


thawing

by qanterqueen



Series: Thawing [1]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Its how krav died no one dies out of canon, Just let me know if theres others im missing, Major character death - Freeform, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, it goes through balance canon its not strictly about how he dies, its finally on ao3 be happy yall, its mostly about krav but yknow everybody else is in it too, we get some dark themes going
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-02-21 22:27:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 84,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13153308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qanterqueen/pseuds/qanterqueen
Summary: Kravitz was cold because there was no need to be warm, once he got to choose between the two states.An analysis of Kravitz in the TAZ Balance canon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It happened! I'm doing it on ao3!

Kravitz was cold because there was no need to be warm, once he got to choose between the two states.

By the time he had died, too young and too distant from the world even at his age, he had already become cold. As if his small, mortal mind had willed it into existence, he had lived the last year of his life cold– maybe that’s why he chose to be cold once he was dead. He was accustomed to it.

Over time this decision became less voluntary. It was no longer for the aesthetic– he just couldn’t remember how to be warm. How to feel anything other than cold was lost to him. It had been lost during that last year alive.

He spent that year decaying as much as a human body could. It had started with a quiet birthday party of a twenty seven year old.

Normally his birthday was full of light and the fresh breeze of the sea in the backyard of his family’s farmhouse. His mother, whom had become old and frail since the tradition started, would knock on his door and call his name, asking if he knew what that day was. He’d dress quickly with the aid of a few servants and hurry his way downstairs. Then his father would greet him with a hearty handshake and a large smile, and his younger brother would fling his tiny arms around Kravitz’s middle in the tightest grip he could.

Kravitz would carry him in the crook of his elbow as he kissed his mother on the cheek and stole a piece of fruit from the kitchen table. The morning would start with a breakfast, then in the afternoon a few of his friends would join them at the estate to share an afternoon of gossip and games and laughter. Soon the night would envelope them and Kravitz would leave his beloved family to spend the afternoon in the city, drinking and dancing until he stumbled his way back home in the early morning.

Normally he’d wake up the that morning after and get to work early on the farm. He’d hum a tune to himself and sing to his brother when he eventually joined him. They’d spend the morning working, gathering dirt under their nails and on their faces. Kravitz wouldn’t want it any other way, despite the hangover he would nurse.

On his twenty seventh birthday he awoke in the noon and stayed in his bed for an hour before gathering the strength to go downstairs, still dressed in his night clothes.

He looked around the empty house as if seeing it again for the first time, trailing his fingers lightly on the stairwell. Though he could see the dust on his fingers as he looked at his hand, no thought came from it. His mind was as empty and quiet as the house– he could hear every dark corner, could sense, for the first time in his life, just how large the house was.

The kitchen was as empty as the rest of the house. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting a dusty trail of light onto the table. A few fruit flies passed through the it, resting on an empty bowl in the middle of the table briefly before taking flight again. Kravitz stood in the center of the entryway, and the silence was so terrible it wasn’t even suffocating anymore. It was just empty, terribly empty, and Kravitz might have been nothing more than a ghost in that moment.

He sat at the table and cried for the last time in his life.

Just months before, his brother had died in a farming accident–  he had eaten the poisonous part of rhubarb unknowingly. He had been sick for a day before passing fitfully. Kravitz hadn’t even been there by his side. He had been outside, breathing fresh sea air as he took a break from the stress of watching his brother. A nurse had run to him from inside the house, regretfully relaying what had happened, and for the rest of Kravitz’s life he hated himself and his weak heart.

Afterwards, the web of a content, happy family was destroyed. His parents couldn’t stand to live on the farmhouse anymore, and Kravitz couldn’t stand to leave his brother’s grave, to leave where his brother was buried. His parents left the estate to Kravitz’s name a week after his brother had died, and had gone a day later. Kravitz had never gotten to say goodbye to any of them, and frankly he didn’t want to. Riddled with grief, he had been angry at them for leaving the grave, and they had later both died believing their oldest and only son was disgusted at them.

Kravitz had let the slaves go when he realized he no longer had the heart to keep up with the work; he had never agreed with the concept of them anyway. A few of them stayed for a few weeks simply because they no longer had a home outside of the estate. Eventually they had observed that Kravitz had enough energy to sit at the kitchen table and stare absently out of the window and nothing more, so they took the harvest for themselves, sold it, and used the money to move out. He didn’t stop them.

The farm wilted under the neglect. He couldn’t have saved it if he wanted to– he couldn’t work the entire place on his own– so he watched it wither before his eyes. He watched the seasons change from that kitchen table, watched the rhubarb die alongside the strawberries and the blueberries and the cabbage and the cotton. The house grew cold around him, cold and quiet. The sea’s breeze was stale.

From then on he, too, was cold and quiet.

He spent nearly a year like that. His parents hardly wrote, and when they did it was only a painful reminder of what he had lost. They wrote and would ask how Kravitz was, begging him to move to the distant city with them. They would tell him that he shouldn’t wallow in his sadness. Eventually he stopped replying to them and they stopped writing. He attempted to sound fine and satisfied in his letters, but in the end the ruse was too much to keep, and he had a feeling they knew he was faking. With his brother the sun had left him permanently.

His days passed in the city, deep in the heart of the downtown scene. His family had been well off and had left him with enough money to live comfortably for a few years without having to work or worry. He thought of this every time he spent money on multiple drinks every night– he would have to do something for work sooner or later. At some point he would have to clean himself up and stop drinking so much because the money would run out.

The truth of the situation was that he wasn’t addicted, and he didn’t need the drinks to stabilize him. The truth was that every night when he was drunk, every night when he would go to some pub and get into a fight or go to some party he wasn’t invited to, he was waiting. Every night that he was drunk and he had his wrist seized by an older man, more drunk than he, and was pushed up against some backstreet wall and commanded to do things he was numb to, he was waiting.

But nothing ever happened. Nothing hit the glass dome that had enveloped him and nothing allowed him that shocking gasp of air. He was suffocating, withering, and dying, and nobody was left to care enough to break him free.

A month before his twenty eighth birthday Kravitz died.

It was as if he had woken up and the breeze outside of his window blew him away alongside with the dust and cobwebs in his bedroom. One moment he was conscious and the next he was gone, slumped against the doorway from his bathroom to his bedroom. He had attempted to make it to the window– to gaze out of it once more, hopelessly wondering, yearning, for one last sight of himself singing to his brother in an early morning mist. He hadn’t been able to crawl much past the medicine cabinet before his stomach exploded in a hollow, resounding pain. Kravitz could barely see the sky from his window, could barely hear the last note of a hum, before he crumbled and disintegrated.

All was dark and the pain was gone when he heard a voice, androgynous and quiet, echo through his body.

_“It is not your time.”_

Kravitz was without a body, without a consciousness, but some deep part of his soul let out a sob. He tried to beg, to plead with whatever voice this was. He wasn’t afraid to die. He wanted to die, he tried to die. Why couldn’t it be his time? Was he not the decider of his own fate?

_“You do not decide these things. I do.”_

There was a black room then, small and square. Kravitz still didn’t exist– he couldn’t look down to see his hands, and he couldn’t speak, not in the way he used to. He could communicate through emotion, it seemed. He was his spirit and nothing more.

The only tangible thing in the room was a single raven that one might find on the street. It stared at him in the quiet nothingness, its black eyes filled with something old that Kravitz didn’t understand.

_“You believe you have a choice, do you?”_

Though the raven did not move or breathe, Kravitz knew the now feminine voice was coming from it somehow. Were he in a right frame of mind, perhaps he would have been afraid. He should have been afraid, by all means, and The Raven Queen was used to this fear. Few people particularly want to be told that they are dead, and few people could stand before her and her radiant power and keep their wits about them.

Kravitz did not respond to her– he couldn’t. There wasn’t anything to say, after all. It seemed as though he could not plead for his life to be taken, as the voice would not allow it, but he also could not be allowed to live. He knew this instantly, for a reason he could not name. He knew it was futile to argue with whatever stood before him.

The raven cocked its head and blinked once at him after a very long while. When she spoke again, Kravitz was not sure how long it had been. He could have been in this room for years and not know it, he was sure of that.

_“You are not going to argue? To barter like a human?”_

_I can’t_ , Kravitz thought. _I don’t want to_. He knew he was not in command here– whatever this raven was exerted power far beyond what he could process or understand. His word meant nothing against hers. And even if it did, he could not be bothered– he had grown tired of fighting for no cause. He wanted to rest. He wanted to maybe even see his brother.

 _“You are not like the rest, Kravitz.”_ The raven said, and it took a step forward, an oddly human thing to do in a raven body.  _“You will not fight me, but you still think it in your power to control death. Are you a coward?”_

Kravitz said nothing, but he could feel himself floating for a moment. Some form of feeling flittered past him and he felt the mist that he was. It induced some sort of fear in a sense of foreboding, and the raven seemed to be pleased by that.

_“You intrigue me. But I can’t let you leave unpunished. You wish to rest, correct?”_

The sense of feeling was growing stronger still, and after a length Kravitz realized that he could could see, that he took up a presence in the room. He looked down to see his body back, still in the nightclothes he died in. He tried to look at his hand, only to discover that while he had control of his body, he could no longer feel. When his nails curled into his palm after he willed them to, he could not feel the movement or the result of. He was not whole in his essence– it was as if he merely inhabited his body instead of belonging to it.

When Kravitz looked up, the raven was gone. In her place was a woman, still radiating the controlled power the raven had. She wore some type of fur chestplate on top of a black bodysuit. Thigh-high black, leather boots gave her inches on Kravitz’s height. A headdress of a large raven skull sat on her head, covering her face and billowing a large trail of midnight feathers where her hair should be, blending into a black cape that seemed to have no end behind her. Kravitz had never seen anything like her, and when she conjured a black throne behind her and settled herself upon it, her legs crossed in a show of power, Kravitz felt a ripple of uncertainty coarse through him.

_“Let’s make a deal, shall we?”_


	2. Chapter 2

The ‘deal’ was not so much a deal as it was a command. Kravitz would work for her, in any form that he pleased, until the end of time, and that’s how it would be. That was his punishment.

Of course, after the years went by The Raven Queen and Kravitz grew close. Kravitz was the only company and person she could physically talk to she’d had in centuries, she told him, and in return Kravitz was not likely or wanting to communicate much with the mortal world.

It turned out that she was much friendlier than their first meeting. After twenty years of working together she had offered to craft  him a scythe– something charged with some of her power, to make reaping and fighting easier. He agreed simply because he had no reason to say no. Despite himself, though, when she smiled as he said yes, he couldn’t help but smile back as well. It was the first time he had smiled in twenty two years.

He was still numb to the world, though he found himself becoming friendlier with the Queen. He found no reason to reacquaint himself with emotions or feelings or warmth. He could never integrate himself with society again, and being immortal meant that he might as well not make any connections, either. He could not feel his body any more than he could the first time he met the Queen– who would even want to associate with a reaper who couldn’t feel?

He forced himself through watching his old mortal life die. He forced himself to take a detour on one of his missions to watch the farmhouse demolished, reduced to nothing but dust. His parents weren’t there to watch, and he wondered vaguely if they were dead. He found that he didn’t care. He didn’t have emotions for the estate anymore, and when a few men parked their carriage over his brother’s burial site, he found himself unaffected. It came to bring a bitter taste in his mouth, but not because he was angry. It was because he knew he should have felt indignant or saddened, but he didn’t.

He spent a few years wondering if, in becoming a reaper, some of his emotions had been taken away. Would he ever feel himself smile again? Would he ever feel that love he had once felt for his brother, for his family, and for his home?

Kravitz had reconstructed his body out of boredom and an attempt to answer his questions, but he found it didn’t work. It was conformity to his already accepted physical existence that kept him tied to his appearance. He felt no closer to obtaining strong emotions by being in his body– in all purposes, he was a being that was not tied to Kravitz and who Kravitz had been. He was merely wearing his body and his name.

Eventually he started to fake emotions, just because existence was long and dry and he might as well. At that point he found his work monotonous, and his relationship with the Queen could only be comfortably described as “friendly”. He’d stay a bit longer when reporting to her for a cup of tea (though she never drank anything and he only drank because it was customary), or he’d tell her what beautiful sight he had seen that day (he didn’t find them emotional in any way, he just knew that they were supposed to be beautiful to others. He wondered if she felt emotion or lack thereof, though most of the time the answer was clear– she’d smile fondly when he described the sunsets).

He started by something simple– an accent. Perhaps an accent would distance himself from Kravitz, who was merely a shell, an empty existence. He played around with what he could, often finding himself smirking if only just because of how ridiculous he sounded. But as time went on, over the course of another century, he realized that whoever this man with an accent was could feel. This man could make jokes and he could contort his face into a smile (though Kravitz didn’t feel the emotions behind the smile, he didn’t feel any of the joy, but his face looked like he did) or a grimace. Kravitz still felt himself struggle to brush his fingertips against any sort of real feeling, but at least he could fake it.

That was until he met Taako.

When the relics were introduced to the world, the Queen explained to him what they were– a bunch of separate forces that used to be a whole, that people desired– but she would explain no further. It was as if she couldn’t, or simply wanted to see him figure it out for himself.

He couldn’t figure it out, and the mystery deepened when a few names showed up on his contract list with deaths that reached into the tens. For the first time in a while, Kravitz had a thing to think about that was actually, so he reasoned, important to humanity.

Time moved as it did.

Kravitz met Taako.

Their first meeting was a fight, and there wasn’t much to be noted upon. Kravitz slipped into his character that he loved so much (which… was a joke, he couldn’t love anything) and played his cards, finally getting an insight into the mystery.

Kravitz met Taako, and then time moved incredibly fast.

Taako was different from the others, Kravitz immediately knew. People were generally afraid of reapers and the powers they held, but not him. Kravitz wasn’t sure Taako was even aware that he should have been afraid, or that he had as many powers as he did. Taako was not only not afraid of him, but seemed to actually like him. In fact, he was so unafraid that he threatened to put Kravitz in ‘tentacle porn’. (Kravitz had no idea what that was and was too embaressed to ask the Queen. He never learned.)

Taako liked him. As in, liked being in his company.

When Taako set up their– was it a meet up? A date? Kravitz had confirmed and immediately rushed to the Queen, and for the first time in a while he felt panic (though, ironically, he was too panicked to notice he was feeling).

“Taako, you say his name is?” She asked, leaning back in her throne.

“Taako.” Kravitz confirmed, distantly watching his hands rub themselves together in anxiety. He didn’t tell them to do that. “He actually… likes me.”

The Queen tilted her head, and the skull atop her head smiled. “Does he now?”

“He talks to me, my Queen. He’s not afraid of me.” He replied, now running his numb fingers on the arm of his chair. Many, many years ago he had to kneel in front of the Queen when speaking to her. Now he had his own throne that was, to be fair, slightly less impressive than hers but still a throne.

“And do you like him?”

“No.” Kravitz immediately responded, but as the word came from his lips it sounded wrong. “I should.” He tried, but that sounded wrong as well. “I’d… like to.”

And that was the blunt truth of it– he wanted to like Taako. He wanted to feel something for this odd stranger. Something rippled throughout his being and he shuddered involuntarily. He hadn’t wanted anything since he was alive.

The Raven Queen observed him for a while, humming thoughtfully to himself. He sat silently in front of her, waiting for her answer to his problem. Though he had worked closely with her for a while and no longer saw her as a threat, the truth was that she was still a God, and she was still immensely powerful and knowledgeable. The truth was that he still knew so little about being a reaper.

“You know, Kravitz, you’ve never asked why you feel the way you do.” She commented lightly, and the fear he felt gripped him tighter.

“I’ve never– I don’t… I’ve never cared.” He shifted in his chair nervously. “I assumed that it had to do with my state of being. That is– w–is? Was… enough for me.”

The Queen smiled again, but this time it was something sad. Something melancholy. “Kravitz, it has nothing to do with being a reaper. I assure you.”

When Kravitz went on his date with Taako, things changed.

Kravitz pretended to be oblivious as well as he could, but when Taako’s hands pressed over his, he felt a pressure. It was weak, and not at all magically charged, but for the first time in centuries he felt pressure.

With the pressure, the world seemed to unlock.

He could suddenly sense Taako’s presence behind him, he could feel a wispy breath on his neck, he could feel when Taako accidentally brushed against him when he went back to his seat. He could suddenly feel again, if only barely.

And when he looked up at Taako, barely containing a panic building in his chest, he felt a quick, sharp sense of love.

Later the Raven Queen explained that feeling love was what separated the living from the dead. The living are able to feel love without remorse or resentment. The dead would live out of spite and anger– their existences contributed nothing to the flow of life, so they are gotten rid of.

She explained slowly and carefully as Kravitz stared at his hands with wide eyes and a still chest. When he had sat down he had felt a small pressure underneath him and on the back of his legs, and then he had rubbed his hands together and felt some friction and resistance.

It took a while, but he became used to these feelings again. Anything small he could do comfortably– he started to feel presences, and he started to feel feathery touches against him. Anything harder would affect his body and move it, but he wouldn’t feel it. In a weird way, that gave him security. He could deal with these slow, quiet touches. After a while he even found himself enjoying it, and though Taako was gone most of the time he would find himself brushing up against strangers on missions, feeling high from that nervous excitement.

Emotions came back softly as well. He would make a joke and some part of him would actually find it funny. He’d find himself sincerely smiling back when the Queen smiled at him. He felt excitement whenever he could physically feel. He still didn’t care to feel, and felt as though he could still live without the ability, but having it was… interesting.

And then Taako kissed him.

Kravitz had noticed himself falling more and more in love with Taako– each time saw him the feeling was just a bit stronger. But after one night of particularly amusing fantasy mini golf (in which they both cheated using magic and Kravitz actually smiled and laughed), Taako had asked if he could kiss him and Kravitz felt himself freeze.

Taako’s face fell the slightest bit when Kravitz didn’t respond right away, but he covered it with a grin. “Hey, if you don’t want to, there’s–”

“I– no, that’s not…” Kravitz didn’t mean to interrupt him, but he couldn’t figure out what he wanted to say. Taako didn’t know about how he interpreted emotions and feelings– how could Kravitz had explained? ‘I’m learning to love you and I’m learning to feel, please be patient’? “I want to– but– I…”

Taako watched him curiously and Kravitz felt ashamed, which was new for him. He cleared his throat– he’s waited too long, the moment has passed, and now it’s awkward. And, surprised, he felt disappointment at this. He had wanted this; this simple human gesture, full of the feeling of love that Kravitz had grown to crave. Something other than numbness and something so incredibly mortal was enticing.  

And now it was gone. His fingers had brushed against something tangible and now it was gone.

Taako kept his eyes on him. “You good there?” He no longer was disappointed or rejected, only confused and curious.

“Uh…” Was he good? Was this fine? Despite himself and his fear and the fact that the moment had long passed, he swallowed and said, “Please kiss me.”

He had never truly kissed someone, even when he was alive. There were the quick, chaste kisses between his family and his friends, but he had never cared to kiss anyone in any other way. Even when he was drunk and stumbling through mortality, he did not consider the sloppy, forced kisses between himself and a stranger real or in any way romantic. He was right to think so– this was unlike anything he’d experienced.

By no means should it have been special. Taako went on his toes and pressed his hands against Kravitz’s chest and pressed his lips against him.

But as their lips connected, Kravitz felt a change in his world, in his small atmosphere. For the moments they were connected everything exploded to color, vibrant and loud. Kravitz could feel his clothing suddenly suffocating his body– his body, that he could feel again. His fingertips touching Taako’s cheek, feeling texture and temperature. His hair, weighing heavily on his head. His body, explosively cold and hot at the same time. It was absolutely terrifying.

The world was elevated, the sounds blasting his ears and causing him to flinch because his body could now respond to them. The voices of other people clouded his head like a fog, and the smells of everything flooded to him. The lights of the world saturated and stabbed at him like he was staring into the sun.

Everything was too much. Too much to suddenly feel, too much to touch, too much to take in that he barely noticed Taako, that his kiss was gentle and sweet. To Kravitz there was a feeling of a body close to his, entirely too close for comfort but not close enough for his comfort.

Everything was too much. And then Taako pulled away and it all stopped.

His conscious snapped out of his body with vicious speed. His fingers were no longer connected to him, but down at his side and dull again. The world around him blended and muted once more, settling to the quiet hum Kravitz was used to. The disconnect he felt from his body send his mind through a whirlwind and he stood there, staring at Taako but not really seeing him.

Taako looked at him and he was smiling, though his eyes were still concerned. “Well, I’ll take that look as a compliment.”

“Yeah.” Kravitz breathed after a moment. It wasn’t a particularly nice feeling, but Kravitz hadn’t felt anything, had been searching to feel something, for centuries. The explosion of life was too much, way too much for where he was, but a part of him just wanted to kiss Taako and experience it all over again.

A funny thing happened from then on, as if Taako’s kiss had awoken him. The world was just a bit brighter– not nearly as bright as it had been, not as loud or sudden, but certainly different. He could handle it fine, though it was odd to get used to.

Kravitz could start to feel lighter pressures, too. If he ran his fingers over something, he could feel resistance and now even a little bit of the texture. For a short amount of time he travelled to the mountains and ran his finger over the grass and dirt for hours, excited as a child though he could still barely fee. He spent two days constantly feeling, breathing in chilly air and excitedly running his hands over arms, riddled with goosebumps he could start to take in. When he came back and reported to the Queen, slightly breathless and not sure why he was telling her (he had to tell someone and she the only being available, he told himself), she smiled at him sweetly.

“You’re happy.” She commented lightly.

Kravitz couldn’t stop picking at his sleeves. He hesitated before nodding.

The Queen leaned back and the smile on her mask widened.

His next few dates with Taako had him feeling anxiety that he’d never felt. Every time Taako would throw his arm around his shoulder, or lean against him,  he’d feel his world sharpen. He’d feel his world tilt and swirl and he’d lose his balance and then suddenly it would stop as Taako moved away.

 

And every time he looked at Taako, he felt himself falling deeper in love.

It was not only the feelings that Taako left him with, dazed and disoriented and overwhelmed. It was just the simple fact that he was falling in love with him, as if he were a mortal. He was faling in love with Taako, his humor and his vanity and his secret thoughtfulness. Kravitz found himself laughing more loudly at his jokes and even becoming flustered when Taako flirted with him tastelessly.  The new feeling of love paired with basic physical feeling was intoxicating, and though he had yet to explain this to Taako, he was sure he wouldn’t want to experience this with anyone else.

Kissing Taako was something Kravitz constantly wanted to do, and it seemed as if with each kiss he could handle the explosion better. They never lasted more than a second or two, but within those seconds Kravitz had begun to actually think about what was happening. He was able to appreciate, for the first time, this feeling. He loved Taako’s lips against his, the way he always breathed out before he leaned up and the last wisp of his breath would catch Kravitz’s chin. In the world of noise, Taako pressed against him with a steady note. It never changed, never faltered, and though it was loud it was still something consistent and something to, therefore, lean upon. It was the only thing Kravitz could bear, he thought.

As time moved, so did their relationship. Dates out slowly becomes dates in, sitting on the floor of Taako’s living room as he pretended to eat pizza and pretended to watch whatever was on fantasy T.V., secretly absorbed in feeling Taako leaning against him. Fancy meals became whatever Taako could cook (he stuck to easy recipes, though Kravitz could have been sure Taako had mentioned being a chef at some point in his life), which became toast and scrambled eggs when they were both lazy. Quality entertainment from an event became Taako painting Kravitz’s nails as he talked about nothing in particular and chewed gum loudly.

Small smirks became actual smiles, chuckles became laughs, love became something entirely deeper. Kravitz could not have been more in love, yet every time he glanced down at Taako, he felt the emotion grow stronger. It was fascinating to witness as an outsider, but at that point Kravitz had stopped thinking of the ‘why’ as much as he used to.

Even the anxiety had ebbed away, little by little. The anxiety over actually dating someone mortal was practically gone. There were some things still there– he had never formally (or he should say informally) met his friends, he still couldn’t feel when Taako hugged him, his kisses were still breathtaking explosions (did he want that to fade away?), and at some point he would eventually have to take Taako’s life, but he didn’t think too much about that one.

The biggest issue, at the moment, was that Taako was growing more comfortable with Kravitz and Kravitz physically couldn’t do the same.

The touches he gave were becoming longer, more intimate. The first time Taako held Kravitz’s hand, Kravitz could not feel any pressure but the world sharpened around him, just the slightest bit. He looked around for the cause and was surprised to see another hand wrapped around his. He couldn’t feel it, but he could feel the warmth of it.

“Damn my man, your hands are fucking cold.” Taako commented, and Kravitz watched his thumb coast around his hand. “I’ll fix that.”

Kravitz smiled and shrugged, saying something about how it was because he was a reaper, and reapers typically ran cold (there was no way of him actually knowing if this was true). Yet the comment struck some chord in him– some resounding thought that echoed through his head. He was not normal, not mortal, not right, not suitable for anyone, not feeling, just pretending. Cold was not desirable to the living, and he had forgotten this. Blissfully, he had somehow forgotten his own death.

When he returned to the Raven Queen for a new bounty the next day, he found he didn’t smile when she offered him a biscuit.

He kept the rouse up with Taako the best he could– who wanted someone who was cold and depressed?–, and on an oddly ironic side the more that he found himself sunken into this gloom, the less anxiety he felt. He had no thoughts left to use on anxiety anymore. His mind clouded with thoughts of emotions that slowly turned to actual feelings of aggravation. He loved Taako, he knew this. He loved Taako with everything he could. So why could he not feel Taako against him? Why could he not kiss him back, suffocated by the world when he tried?

Taako didn’t notice the change in Kravitz, and if he did he didn’t comment. Taako would go about how he went, saying thoughts without a care. ‘I’m hungry, your eyes are beautiful, the weather is nasty, your hands are cold, let me warm you up, I’m thinking lasagne for dinner, what about you?’. If he sensed the insecurity Kravtiz had, he didn’t indicate it.

He just kept moving forward with their time and their relationship. Kravitz followed suit, tugged by the hand wherever Taako wanted to do whatever Taako wanted– he was the feeling mortal in this situation after all, he obviously knew how relationships should work. If Kravitz had to swallow his discomfort and sadness, then he’d do so. He’d steal the moon for Taako.

So the touches became longer. The naps would become longer.

And, on one particular night, pressed close together on Taako’s bed, the kiss became more. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter gets a little hot n steamy, but it's not bad!

They had both lied down together before, Kravitz pressing himself into Taako because the one time they had faced each other and tangled their limbs the feeling was too much and too uncomfortable. They’d nap, or at least pretend to, while Kravitz would run his hands through Taako’s hair and pretend like he could feel the silkiness of it (sometimes, on good days, he could). It was unnecessary and relatively pointless, but it gave them both a few hours to be still. It allowed Kravitz to calm his thoughts and push them to the side as he simply existed.

On this night, there was no thinking.

Taako had kissed Kravitz impulsively mid-conversation, as he usually did, but that night it was sparked. It was charged with something underneath, some near-frustration and desperation emanating from Taako. Kravitz wasn’t sure what this meant, but he didn’t want to know in that moment. In that moment, the world was color.

In that moment, Kravitz decided to kiss back.

Taako smiled against his lips, but Kravitz could not feel it. He had grown accustomed to the noise kissing had produced from the universe, and so through the noise he had started to feel the mouth against his own. But now there was none of that– now there was unexplored territory, new sounds and noises to scald his very being. Now he had time.

Taako leaned forward and gingerly grasped Kravitz’s face in his hands, brushing against his cheeks with meaning. He turned and twisted his face, biting carefully at Kravitz’s bottom lip and kissing him ferociously. Kravitz could only kiss back with a growing numbness, and when Taako left his face to momentarily lick and gently suckle on his neck, he let out his first gasp in centuries.

It was in those moments he realized that he was not accustomed to the suddenness of life that Taako gave him– he was just accustomed to it in the short burst he typically felt it.

Though his eyes were closed he felt like he could see the room around him in blindingly fluorescent colors. Every sound was like a cannon fired next to his head; he could hear the fly in the room, he could hear Merle humming in the apartment over, he could hear the clock on the night table and the wires inside of it sizzle, the breathing and beating of Taako’s heart, the rustle of clothing, the scraping of fingernails as his shirt was lifted to his chest, hands raking over skin, shallow, quick breathing, the earth’s own song, the scream of the moon and the technology on it, the lights, the music.

He could feel the clothes on him brush his skin as Taako lifted his shirt over his head, he could feel the cold air, he could feel Taako’s lips, his teeth like knives, his tongue over his skin, the press of his sleeves to his arms, the pressure of merely being alive, of existing, of inhabiting his body, squeezing into its confinements, the hot blood under his skin flaying him alive, his cold hands suddenly his again, full of something solid for the first time in centuries.

The hum and noise and sense of everything hit him like a tidal wave and he was dragged under, each wave of it pulling him further and further away from pleasure to suffocating. He was trapped– unable to stop his body, unable to tell himself no as Taako lifted from his neck back to his lips again– he kissed back, he was kissing back, killing himself in his essence. The lights would surely blind him, the noise would cause his ears to bleed and his head to crumble until he was dust, the touch of it all would burn him alive, charring his soul and stressing it until he could not breathe, could not surface himself.

He needed to stop– he wanted to stop, he wanted and needed to breathe, but a small part of him wanted to continue. It wanted to keep kissing Taako because it loved Taako. Yet the matter was that Kravitz, with each passionate kiss, with each feeling of Taako’s hands running up and down his sides, lighting his skin with the touch of an exploding sun, could not breathe.

He tried to surface and discovered that he was physically gasping, though he didn’t need to, against Taako. His breaths, when not muffled with Taako’s own heavy breaths, were sharp and deep. Somehow his shirt had come off and because of that he was shivering, occasionally shuddering when Taako’s hands pressed roughly against some part of him. His own hands were burning hot.

Through the noise he had to stop– he knew he had to, knew he needed to, knew he had a right to. But the fact was that he had never had to ask for this. He had never had to tell something to ever stop. Nothing was ever too much for him, not previously. Yet now he was afraid and incredibly sensitive and overstimulated, and he needed out. How could you ask someone to allow you to breathe?

“T-Taako…” He tried, his body shuddering as his eyelids fluttered against the noise and the light. He felt like he was imploding and he had to abandon his efforts for a minute or so, simply because talking was so difficult. Taako just hummed breathlessly against his skin for a moment before resuming. The feeling was unbearable. Kravitz was trapped, but he was also horribly and deeply in love.

“Please–” Kravitz gasped, and he was powerless and Taako was kissing his cheek, his forehead, his upper lip, his eyelids, his–

“P-Please– s-stop, Taako, please–”

And just like that, all at once, everything was gone.

Taako hesitated and pulled away for just a moment and Kravitz’s body snapped forward involuntarily and instantly. The absence of sound and touch and sight blinded him for a moment, a singular long tone playing in his head for a few seconds before fading out. It was then that he looked at his body and discovered that he had actually been physically fading; his limbs were semi-opaque, and he could clearly see the sheets underneath him. He had felt so much that he had started to become nothing, so it seemed.

So he sat there, the numbness making his body quiver as his soul disconnected its’ typical amount. He found himself still breathing quite heavy, though now there was no obstruction and only a single breath could have had him feeling alright.

Things were dazing and disorienting, and he waited for the world to righten itself once more. He had stretched himself and had trapped himself, and it left him feeling hollow and nothing else.

When things had rightened and he could no longer see the sheets beneath him, he looked up at Taako and discovered he did, in fact, feel something other than hollow. He felt ashamed. Taako was sitting back and looking at him in concern, his hands on his knees and gripping his pants tightly. Kravitz felt his guilt double. How must he look, in that moment? Pitiful, or maybe horrifying?

“I- I’m sorry, Taako..” He managed to get out, and suddenly words were tumbling out of him like rocks from a cliffside. The guilt of keeping his secret had become too unbearable. “I– I haven’t felt in years, Taako, and when I do it– there’s too much and I– I didn’t mean to, I just needed to– I’m really sorry– I wasn’t ready for… for all of…”

He trailed off his stammering, aware that nothing he was saying was making sense, and if it did make sense there would be no way Taako wouldn’t shun him out. Taako didn’t deserve this, not at all. Taako had obviously wanted to go further and, Kravitz realized suddenly, he had wanted to as well. But he… just couldn’t. Even now his head was in pain, not quite searing but enough to have the brightness of Taako’s room painful. It was pathetic.

Kravitz breathed and waited for Taako to say anything, his eyes fixed on the ground. Maybe the silence was an invitation to leave. Maybe he should just go.

Kravitz looked up once more, begging for a reason to stay, any indication to stay. Taako’s look stopped him dead in his tracks.

“Are you okay?” Taako was looking at him with concern, of course, but more importantly he looked… almost soft. Adoring. Patient and warm. Kravitz was so damn in love.

“I’m fine now.” Kravitz mumbled, his eyes still fixed on Taako.

“Okay,” Taako breathed, “Okay. Good.” He took a few breaths of his own, shifting his gaze to the window, the night sky black and devoid. Kravitz waited for him, fear in his chest growing. But when Taako looked back, there was only a quiet sort of patience waiting for Kravitz. “Do you mind explaining to me what the fuck just happened?”

Kravitz did, and immediately. It was uncomfortable to say in the very least. All Kravitz was explaining, basically, was the difference between himself and every single normal mortal alive. He was explaining the rift between himself and the living– how he couldn’t exactly feel, how he generally could feel pain and nothing else. How his hands were cold because he couldn’t feel them, as if he wasn’t truly in control of them. How he only recently started feeling, and it was all because of him, Taako. And every time they kissed, every time they touched, Kravitz could feel whole, could feel real. And it was too much sometimes.

“But…” Kravitz continued, now looking out the window himself. He didn’t want to see the confusion or anger that would surely be on Taako’s face, but he had to say this. “Taako, I love you. I love everything about you. And I want to kiss you, and feel things, and hold your hand and not be cold for you. It’s just… hard.”

Kravitz was expecting the silence that followed. When he looked at Taako’s face, he had been expecting the shock, the confusion. But what he wasn’t expecting was when Taako smirked weakly and said, “Fella, that’s not the only hard thing in this room.”

Kravitz blinked at him for a few seconds, absolutely flabbergasted at his growing grin. The words took a few moments to process and when they did he felt his face flush. Immediately he covered his face in his hands.

“Oh my gods,” he mumbled, and listening to Taako laugh he couldn’t help but smile. Something lightened in his heart, and when he looked up again, there was nothing but love written on Taako’s face.

“So what, you have a problem feeling, then?”

Kravitz hesitated before nodding. Well, Taako hadn’t thrown him out of his room yet, so maybe this would go better than expected. “I guess you could say it like that.”

Taako hummed, nodding thoughtfully. “So… I’m not gonna lie, I don’t really completely understand, but… Well, I mean, do you want to end this–?”

“No!” Kravitz interrupted hastily, and Taako grinned at him. “No, not at all.”

“Well, then, I think it’d be smart if we laid down some… guidelines.” Kravitz had never seen Taako so thoughtful, he realized. And he had never met someone so willing to accommodate for him, either. He must have stared at Taako, his heart full of love, for five years before remembering to answer.

Touching was okay. Holding hands was okay, and so was leaning and playing with hair and shoving. Cuddling was, mostly, okay. Hugging was okay. Sensual touches and kissing was… fine. It was fine when it was slow, or quiet around them, or quick if other things were happening.

Kravitz had apologised so often when they were deciding these things.

“Hey, it’s not like it’s your fault.” Taako commented lightly, brushing a stray piece of Kravitz’s hair away from his face. The dark of night had since enveloped the room and somehow they had found themselves laying under Taako’s covers, facing each other with Taako’s (incredibly freezing, so much so that even a being devoid of feeling could sense it) feet pressed against Kravtiz’s shins.

“I know.” Though the words of the Queen ringed through his head– ‘nothing to do with being a reaper…’, “I still feel bad. You deserve to–”

“I’ll stop you there.” Taako said softly. “I fell for your looks, babe, and stayed for the rest of it. Cold or not, I wouldn’t want you any different.”

Kravitz looked at him, simply looked at him. Taako, in that moment, was simply incredible. After centuries of the same feelings and the same people, just different names, Taako was something and somebody absolutely new. He was the first flower Kravitz had brushed his hand against in the mountains, he was the first time Kravitz was able to smell eggs frying, he was every single time Kravitz felt goosebumps on his arm.

“I love you, darling.” He whispered, without a doubt or hitch.

“I know.” And when Taako kissed his nose, Kravitz felt something in his chest swell.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> our favorite boy is here to solve riddles!!

Time moved and Kravitz met Angus McDonald.

It was a complete accident and a chance encounter. Kravitz had yet to even properly meet Merle and Magnus, in fact. He was confined to nighttime visits, mostly, which was not in avoidance to them at all. From the stories Taako would fondly tell of them, he actually found himself caring for these people. (Of course he was more slightly concerned for Magnus, who had apparently once cried because he had been told he was not allowed to own a dog on the moon for the seventh time. Kravitz had no idea dogs had meant so much to mortals.) Their times were just conflicting.

He hadn’t even heard the name Angus McDonald or any allusion to the person when he found himself face to face with him at three in the morning in Taako’s kitchen.

Kravitz hadn’t been asleep, though Taako had been. For the new accumulation of feelings, Kravitz had begun to experience negative forces besides pain again. On this particular night he was stressed, or maybe tired– he couldn’t tell. The world was becoming more dangerous and more and more people were dying. Kravitz had contracts every day, new ones that flooded his schedule and left him to see Taako at only incredibly inconvenient hours, it seemed. Any moment he could slip away from work he would immediately find himself with Taako, smiling and laughing like nothing was wrong and he wasn’t ready to drop from mental exhaustion. It was an escape from the real world and he was beginning to feel like Taako felt the same way. After all, he was on the front lines as well.

During this night, however tired he was, Kravitz couldn’t sleep. Perhaps it was the stress, but every sight brush against Taako had him reeling and he couldn’t handle it, not tonight, not right then. He loved Taako, he truly did, yet in that moment he needed to be quiet and alone, without thoughts or feelings. He felt incredibly guilty, even though he was sure Taako would understand anyway.

So he had slumped himself in a chair at the kitchen table, a cup of tea untouched before him. The clock on the oven ticked painfully slow, yet he knew he would have to return to work before he knew it. He knew he should be savoring this time by being with Taako, but like most normal things, he was incapable of doing so. A pit was in his stomach, growing larger and larger.

The boy that practically materialized in the corner of his vision was so quiet that Kravitz hadn’t realized he wasn’t alone until the newcomer spoke.

“Um… Hello?”

Kravitz jumped in his chair, all traces of the trance he had found himself in gone. He looked down to the voice and could not have been more surprised in what he saw.

There was a child standing there, in a very old, too-large shirt that read ‘Sizzle It Up With Taako!” and shorts that only peaked out from under the shirt. He was strikingly out of place, but not particularly by appearance. His eyes were bleary and his face was flushed with sleep, hidden underneath a pair of large circular glasses.

He was not out of time; he looked like someone Kravitz would meet at three in the morning, when the world was not quite awake at all. What puzzled him was what this  _child_  was doing in  _Taako’s_  apartment.

“Hello.” Kravitz supplied cautiously. Taako had never mentioned a child, whether it was his own (which was an interesting concept to think of, but this child had better fashion taste than Taako so far) or a friends’. Or perhaps this boy was just lost– the Bureau’s base was quite large.

“Who are you? And what are you doing here?” The boy asked, and suddenly he straightened up, his tired eyes hardening as much as they could. “My name is Angus McDonald and I’m the world’s greatest Boy Detective, so if you lie to me I’ll know.”

Despite himself Kravitz smiled. Mortals were always so interesting to him, though he had never observed one long enough to become attached to their personality (until recently). Deciding that he was going to humor himself and this boy– Angus, as it were– he replied, “My name is Kravitz. I’m a reaper. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Angus blinked at him for a few moments, apparently processing what information was being given to him. Kravitz waited for him.

“You’re… a reaper?” Kravitz watched as the boy’s eyes grew wide and suddenly they were shimmering and glistening with tears. “Is… is Taako okay, sir?”

Kravitz looked at Agnus, incredibly confused. This Angus McDonald walks in unannounced, demands Kravitz answer his questions, then asks about Taako’s wellbeing…? This would have made more sense if Taako had  _ever_  mentioned an Angus McDonald. But he hadn’t. “Is he okay…? Why wouldn’t he be?” Kravitz answered, and now the boy was looking at  _him_  in confusion.

“Well, sir, by all means… you’re a reaper. Don’t you collect people’s souls, sir? After they die?”

Kravitz stared at Angus for a few more seconds, the gears in his head slowly turning and clicking into place. “Oh. Oh!” Kravitz smiled and Angus returned the gesture hesitantly. “No, Taako’s fine. I’m just visiting him– I’m–”

And what was Kravitz to Taako, exactly?

“– A friend.”

Kravitz confidently knew that he was more than a friend to Taako, and judging by Angus’ look of disbelief he knew as well. Yet the matter was that if Taako hadn’t introduced Kravitz to his friends, then there was also a strong possibility that he hadn’t introduced the concept or status of Kravitz to others. Kravitz didn’t peg Taako for someone who would be secretive in terms of orientation or even relationships, but even so he would be respective in case he was.

“Oh. Okay.” Angus said, and silence filled the room.

Kravitz didn’t mind, even if it was uncomfortable. There was something familiar about the boy, and he wished to observe him to discover what it was. But it seemed Angus was not okay in this silence.

“My apologies, sir, but Taako’s never talked about you.” He said, and to Kravitz’s amusement he climbed onto a chair stationed opposite Kravitz. Kravitz smiled softly.

“Well, he’s never talked about you, either.” Kravitz replied, and Angus sighed.

“I didn’t think he would, sir. Taako pretends like he doesn’t like me.”

“Does he now?” Kravitz asked, leaning forward on his hand. He was quite interested at this child who was under the assumption that Taako liked him well enough to allow him into his apartment at three in the morning. Kravitz was under the assumption that he was the only one allowed to be there at three in the morning.

Angus nodded and picked at his sleeves. “He says he thinks I’m annoying. He told the Director to punch me once.”

“And did she?”

Angus smiled bitterly. “She did.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He truly was, even though it sounded tremendously like something Taako would do.

“It’s okay.” Angus yawned, rubbing his eyes. It was then that Kravitz noticed the watch on his wrist, tiny and rusted. It looked like something an adult might wear, whereas Angus looked just shy of ten. Kravitz’s interest sparked.

“That’s a nice watch.” He commented lightly, and Angus looked down at it in surprise, as if he’d forgotten he was wearing it.

“Oh. Thank you, sir.” He gave Kravitz a small smile and continued. “It was my father’s, sir. It’s five minutes fast but I’ve learned to manage it.” After a small pause he added, “I’m very smart.”

Kravitz felt his smile widen. “So you’ve said.”

Angus shifted in his seat uncomfortably, casting his eyes down again. “Sorry, sir. I know I’m repetitie, sir.”

It was in that quiet moment that Angus lapsed into that made Kravitz realize who he was reminiscent of.

“Why are you here, Angus?”

He probably should have started with this question, but he could barely remember what he  _had_  started with. His throat was tight and his hands felt like they were buzzing of their own accord.

Angus looked up at him before returning his stare to the floor. “Well…” He began slowly, then hastily added, “I’m very smart, and I’m a Boy Detective.”

He paused and once more glanced at Kravitz, who now made no move to dispel the sudden change in atmosphere. “But… I’m still just a boy, sir.” Another pause. “And sometimes I get nightmares, sir, and Taako lets me sleep on his couch when I do. Well, he didn’t tell me I can, but he doesn’t kick me out, either.”

Kravitz nodded, unable to help himself as he looked at Taako’s closed bedroom door. He didn’t doubt that Taako allowed Angus to do this, not at all, and things suddenly made sense. He was beyond interested to learn how they came to know each other, but in that moment a calm numbness had washed over him. He had known of someone who had dealt with night terrors by being in company. They were long since dead, but Kravitz could easily recall every night they spent with them.

He could recall his own nights, alone in his extremely empty farmhouse.

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Kravitz looked at Angus, seeing clearly for the first time someone who could only be described as a reincarnation, or even a ghost. The Queen had told him a few centuries ago that reincarnations were never purposeful or really even possible. He was starting to doubt her.

Angus looked up and his face was deep red. “I’m not  _ashamed_ –”

“Even smart people get nightmares, Angus.” Kravitz glanced to Taako’s door briefly before saying quietly, “I used to get nightmares, too, y’know. When I was mortal.”

Angus looked at him warily. “I told you I’d be able to tell if you were lying.”

“Well, then,” Kravitz leaned back in his chair, seemingly indifferent, “You know I’m telling the truth.” Internally he could hear a static in his ears, a feeling of sick remembrance in his throat. He had done this before. He had been in practically this same situation.

Angus studied his face, squinting his eyes for a long moment. Finally he leaned back in his own chair, scratching behind his ears. “What did– if you don’t mind me asking, sir– what did you dream about?”

_You. Always about you._

“I had a few people close to me die when I was mortal. I always felt like I could have saved them.” For the first time in centuries he felt that same feeling of discarding something unimportant, and he felt the disgust that paired with it. How could he throw around the memories of the people he once loved like this?

“That’s a natural response to the stimuli of death, sir.”

“I know. Yet, despite being the smart person I was, I still felt it.”

Kravitz had no idea what he was doing there, and the thought of this hit him like a hammer to his chest. What was he doing in this mortal world? Dating an elf, kissing someone, falling in love? Sitting at their kitchen table during the early morning, talking to a child about his own fears. A mortal child, who would die like every other person. An elf, who would last longer but surely be bored of him before long. The situation was nearly funny to him– he could pour out his heart to Angus McDonald and it would not matter in the slightest. This boy, sitting before him and claiming to be brilliant enough for nightmares to be illogical, would become dust in only a short handful of years.

It was silly and he had better things to be doing with his time. He had unresolved contracts still out in the world and more jobs waiting for him when those were taken care of. In fact, his work would never end. But in the essence of the situation he was trapped; despite his feelings, he knew his conscious would never allow him to leave. In decades of year’s time, he would witness the death of Angus McDonald and the death of Taako and he would be upset over them. He would be lonely.

He stared into the eyes of Angus McDonald and realized he was already incredibly and irreversibly lonely in that moment.

“I have dreams about my Grandpa.” Angus said after a while, and Kravitz looked at him, incapable of doing anything more. The boy fidgeted in his seat a little more before saying, “He died a little bit ago, sir. I’ve been on my own ever since.”

“What about your parents?” Kravitz found himself asking.

Agnus sighed. “I left them. I thought I could be a detective and earn a living on my own, y’know, so they wouldn’t have to buy me stuff anymore.”

“Ah.” Kravitz whispered. Angus nodded solemnly.

“They write sometimes.” He said airily, shrugging.

“And do you write back?”

Angus tugged at the sleeve of his shirt. “Well, when I remember I do but we were never–”

Kravitz smiled bitterly, listening to Angus ramble about how his father was always working and his mother was quite stressed– of course they loved him but they were never there and he had owned this great series of books, Kravitz should read them sometime, but anyway they never quite there for him so if he missed a letter or two it was really no big fuss, they would always–

“I’ve been a reaper for many years, did you know?” Kravitz asked suddenly, and Angus cut off in the middle of a story centering around a mine.

“I… Well, I could assume…”

“And did you know that I never witnessed the death of my parents?”

There was a distinct freeze in time as Angus just looked at him, shocked.

Kravitz paused as well. He hadn’t spoken of his past life to anybody, not a single soul, not even the Queen. He was so old that he had distanced himself from that part of him, that distinctly Kravitz history that shaped who he was when being somebody had mattered to him. Kravitz was a sentient being, a ghost with powers tied to a God, eternal and timeless.

Except… he really wasn’t timeless. He had parents. They were long dead, he knew, but they had once lived. They had once loved him. And now, to him, they were nothing but a discarded past. A story to tell a child.

“They had left me after an unfortunate event and I never saw them again.” He hesitated, and for the first time came to realize something about their story. “I broke their hearts, not coming with them. They tried to write to me– can you guess what I did?”

Angus stayed quiet. His face was in silent awe, staring at the being before him.

“I never replied honestly, and eventually I stopped replying. Maybe I thought I had more time, I’m not sure. The memory is fuzzy.”

It was crystal clear and sharp as a blade to his skin. Their last letter was full of doubt that he had, at the time, found irksome. He had wanted to self-destruct and they had noticed.

“For the rest of my life I regretted not speaking to them.” He swallowed. “I never got to tell them goodbye, do you know this?”

“I… I’m sorry, sir.”

“Don’t be.” He shrugged noncommittally. “It’s in the past.” He had stopped caring about the memory, the feelings invoked from it lost in the sea of numbness he had found himself in. Kravitz felt nothing towards his parents and hadn’t for years, and perhaps that was what made their story incredibly depressing.

The silence that followed was deafening and uncomfortably long. Kravitz let his mind wander, desperately trying not to think about the subject at hand (ironic how he had started this encounter sitting at the table and wanting quiet). Angus looked at his lap for a long while before mumbling, “Do you remember them, sir? Your parents?”

Kravitz blinked out of his trance, and Angus hastily added, “I’m sorry, sir, I’ve never met a reaper before, and…”

“That’s fine.” He tilted his head back, thoughtfully staring at the ceiling. It had been centuries and he could still remember the shade of his mother’s hair in the morning, or the smell of his father’s smoke. Yet he could hardly envision how tall they were, or how long his mother’s nose was. Interesting.

“My mother liked to cook.” He started, and for a painful, fleeting moment there was a pie on the counter, the wisp of a laughter blown away by time, and a hand on his shoulder. “She used any excuse to throw a feast. When the strawberries were ripe– that was her favorite time of the year. She could make anyone sick of strawberries within a week.

My father was a gambler and he’d go out drinking sometimes, but he loved my mother. He read a lot, too. I don’t remember what he’d read, but that was mostly because every other day he was on a new book with a new title. I was always impressed, but then I hardly read. I found it a waste of time.”

Angus was staring at him like he was a new language written in an ancient book, and Kravitz felt like he might as well have been. Yet for a small amount of time while describing his mother, he felt like he belonged again. He felt mortal.

He was twenty seven again, drunkenly telling a bartender how much he loved his family.

“Did you have any siblings?” Angus whispered.

Kravitz stared at him for a very long time. “No. Never did.”

Perhaps he was less numb than he thought.

“Oh.” Angus said, but apparently wasn’t stuck on the answer. “I had a brother.”

“Did you now?”

Angus nodded and suddenly yawned. “Y-yeah. He takes care of my parents as much as he can.”

“And do you write to him?”

Angus shrugged, but this time he looked sheepish, as if Kravitz’s words had gotten to him. “When he writes to me.” Angus mumbled.

Kravitz stared at Angus McDonald for a long time after that. The enrapturement from the boy he felt was like nothing else, and he felt like he could so easily become lost in the concept of him within seconds. Angus McDonald was dust, as all mortal were dust, but now he was caught in Kravitz’s lungs. Taako was settled but Angus was fresh, expanding and filling his lungs until his soul itched for a breath of air.

Kravitz had lied that night. He never had previously acquired a reason to lie once he was immortal– why would he care about upsetting someone if he couldn’t die by their hands easily?– and so had never. But that night he told Angus McDonald that he had to leave because the Queen was calling him. He bade him a goodnight and left.

He bade the ghost sitting before him goodnight and floated in the astral plane for days, his mind a galaxy of pure thought.


	5. Chapter 5

After that night, he met Magnus Burnsides. Formally, that is.

Taako had invited him to a party– something about the Bureau’s Anniversary happening. Everyone was invited; there would be food, dancing, and people. Three things Kravitz didn’t need to or particularly liked to indulge in anymore, but Taako had wanted him to go (something about making the mandatory event even bearable). Kravitz had never been to a party, at least not one since he was alive. Which wasn’t really a big deal to him. He’d seen modern parties, and although they seemed quaint and friendly, they weren’t  _parties_  to him. Parties left him breathless. Parties had line-dancing with ladies he’d never met before but would greet with a kiss to the hand. Parties ended with his arms around his friends, stumbling out at the early hours of the morning, smiling and laughing. Parties ended when he crashed on the couch of the farmhouses’ living room.

He didn’t miss his friends. He didn’t miss the parties. He told himself this and he believed it.

However, despite his outward indifference, when he appeared at the door to Taako’s apartment (he always knocked, despite how many times Taako said he didn’t have to), he was muddled with anxiety and excitement. He’d have to talk to mortals as if they weren’t going to die in year’s time. He could dance– after so many years, he was most excited for this. For one night, he could pretend to be alive. He didn’t miss this feeling, but if it was offered to him he’d accept.

When Taako had asked him to join, he had been smart enough to not question why Kravitz knew at least some of the Bureau’s real purpose, or that it even existed. But Taako was also smart enough to ask how Kravitz knew Angus, which was not as easily answered.

The moment Kravitz and Taako walked through the doors to the Bureau’s bustling Grand Hall arm in arm, Angus McDonald had run up to them (with near incredible speed), sprouting an excited, “I didn’t know you were coming, sirs!” He was dressed in a dapper suit and had a red tie that was slightly off-kilter. It looked as if he had learned how to tie it just that day and was still just barely okay at it. Kravitz felt a rush of indescribable emotion when he saw him that made him shudder. He felt the urge to correct Angus’s tie– he’d known someone like Angus who also couldn’t get it centered. It was instinct, but he bit it back.

“Hello, Angus.” Kravitz greeted warmly, because in spite of everything he was honestly a little relieved just to see someone familiar, but Taako was already taking the lead.

“Ango!” He slapped his hand on Angus’s head, ruffled his curly hair rather violently, and was already moving ahead before the other could get a word in. Kravitz really had no choice but to follow him, and Angus had no choice but to jog along behind the both of them.

“What’s crackin’, hombre?” Taako called over his shoulder, sweeping his way to a food table. Angus rushed to be by his side, just to be able to have a conversation.

“Magnus and Merle are already here, sir. I didn’t know you were bringing Kravitz!” He turned to him then and smiled hesitantly. Kravitz went on a whim and smiled back. He wasn’t aware of the protocol for the situation they were in was either.

Taako looked at Kravitz, pausing with his hand over a bowl full of red liquid. His eyebrows raised, he looked between the two of them frequently before asking, “Krav, dear, you know this kid?”

Kravitz briefly looked again at Angus, who now looked worried. Kravitz had nearly forgotten that Taako wasn’t aware they didn’t know each other.

“I had a job involving one of his culprits.”

Lying to Taako, even if it was just a quick, meaningless coverup, felt sticky and acidic in his mouth.

However, Angus looked positively radiant due to a wide smile on his face, and Kravitz was fairly sure it was before to the formality of the word “culprit”. Or it could have been Taako’s look of impressed shock towards the both of them. “Really?” He asked incredulously, looking at Angus’s wide smile.

“Of course! I caught the culprit, sir, and he turned out to be a lich!” Angus caught on quickly, clasping his hands behind his back. Kravitz couldn’t help the affection that crept into his heart. He didn’t doubt that Angus was incredibly smart, but there was no possible way he could have caught a lich.

Taako snorted and the grin was dropped slightly. “‘Lich’? Liches are bitches, my boy! Easy stuff!” If he caught the lie he didn’t say anything.

Angus looked as if he was about to launch into why it was particularly impossible for a litch to be a “bitch” and how they weren’t really easy, but Taako was quicker in grabbing Kravitz’s arm and hauling him away.

“What the fuck is a lich?” Taako murmured to him after they lost Angus in a sea of people. He fell back once they were near the sides of the room, pressing close to Kravitz’s side and lacing their fingers together. Kravitz was delighted to feel the warmth in his hand despite all that was happening, so much so that he almost forgot to answer.

“A lich is a–”

“Taako!”

Something that could have only been described as a bear paw was suddenly on the wizard’s shoulder and even Kravitz could feel the tremor that resonated through his body. A loud voice was booming over the music, “Taako! You came out!”

“I’ll try my hardest to not make a gay joke.” Taako grumbled, swiftly escaping the hand on his shoulder in favor of brushing off his shirt. The voice laughed heartily.

When Kravitz turned to see who it was, he was confronted by the face of Magnus Burnsides, whom he had technically been told to and tried to kill just a short while ago. A slight feeling of dread and regret came over Kravitz that made the hand in his spark something in the back of his head. Humans were generally a pretty straightforward deal until you got involved with them. Kravitz always made it a point to not remember his target’s names for this exact reason and situation.

The problem was that he was now dating one of Magnus’s coworkers–were  he and Taako even friends? Kravitz really couldn’t tell from this interaction– and therefore had to remember his name out of social construct. Even if he had tried to kill him. It was awkward to say the least.

However, if Magnus had remembered this unfortunate killing-related event, or even cared about it at all, he made no allusions to it whatsoever.

“Hey! I know you, stranger!” Now Magnus was pressing his hand on Kravitz’s shoulder, which was unexpected and something new.

Kravitz didn’t feel the pressure, as always, but for some reason the world was blurred for a moment. The lights were just a little softer, the edges of everything became a tad undefined.

It was only for a moment, then Magnus removed his hand and everything went back to how it was.

Kravitz blinked a few times, completely lost at the shift in the world but desperately trying to stay present in order to respond to whatever Magnus had been saying. Something about being surprised that he was here, did he even go to parties as an immortal? “I– um– yes. Absolutely.”

The moment and touch was small within itself, Kravitz knew, and it should have been insignificant, transparent and quick, but it  _wasn’t_. He had developed a few theories on why Taako had him feeling physically and emotionally, but all of those theories resided in the general explanation of “we share intimacy”. When he was around Taako, he felt emotions more strongly. He could feel touches that were light and careful (though the definition of ‘light and careful’ was starting to progress). He even faintly picked up the intense taste of wasabi two nights ago (he had eaten a large chunk of it and picked up a faint whisper of the flavor, which he didn’t deem as terrible. However, Taako stared at him with pure wonder and horror, so maybe he should have.).

But he didn’t share intimacy with Magnus in any way that he could tell. So why did he feel something? What did that mean?

“Have you seen Killian?” Magnus was asking Taako, who shrugged noncommittally.

“She’s not hard to spot, my man.”

 _Stay focused, stay here, stay here_. He was becoming lost in his thought.

Why did this matter, again? No matter how much he discovered about himself, nothing would change. He was following this anomaly out of pure pleasure and curiosity. He shouldn’t get so involved, or place so much of his purpose on it.

But he couldn’t. He could stop thinking about it. It was just so  _odd_.

He struggled through the rest of Magnus’s conversation, carefully staying in the background and offering what he could when asked. Distantly Kravitz felt regret for not being present for Magnus’s sake. Magnus was actually quite pleased to see Kravitz again and wasn’t at all surprised to hear Taako call him “bone daddy” (that was new). He was extremely nice and even complimented Kravitz’s coat (Kravitz had forgotten he was even wearing clothes– he couldn’t feel them).  

Through his own fog, it was odd to admit to himself that Kravitz was actually pleased to see Magnus as well. Even if he really wasn’t thinking about Magnus at all.

Why did he feel his hand?

“What’s up skeleton-eyes?”

Kravitz looked around, broken out of his trance as something had suddenly shoved him so hard that he stumbled. To his surprise it was just Taako, staring up at him with a stony look. Magnus was nowhere to be seen. The party continued around them.

Kravitz blinked at Taako a few times, his consciousness so scattered with thought that it was nearly impossible to register the question. He felt as though his perspective was dusted across the universe and he was trying to herd it together to no avail. The dust was slipping through his fingers like sand.

“I– um– what?”  _Wake up, you’re here, here, present, stop thinking about it-_ -

“What’s wrong?” Taako repeated, this time slower. That seemed to do something to get words to Kravitz’s head.

“I….” Kravitz struggled to piece together words, then to string together an answer. What was wrong? Magnus touched him and he felt it, that’s what  _happened_. But what was  _wrong_? Was that wrong? If Kravitz didn’t know the rules of how much he felt, then how did he know what was wrong?

He was getting off track. Kravitz looked around momentarily, just trying to  _see_  something and take it in. He was at a party, he was with Taako, he was holding his hand, he was at a party. What did it smell like? Could he taste anything? No; he wasn’t eating anything. No he couldn’t smell anything. No he couldn’t feel anything. Yet he could discern his surroundings– he was at a party.

Parties were fun. They were supposed to be fun. Not heavy, not like this. Not cold. He was incredibly cold, in that moment. He needed to wake up.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

This wasn’t Taako’s to deal with. Kravitz would deal with this later.

“Then drop the accent.”

“The…? Oh.” He focused on the one simple command– accent, accent, stop, accent– and realized that he  _had_  gone Cockney, somewhere in the conversation with Magnus. He’d never done that before; he’d never slipped into his accent unknowingly. “Oh.” Kravitz said, this time with more conviction and force. The accent persisted. “ _Accent_ ,” he whispered to himself, not aware of Taako’s stare on him.

He tried to drop the Cockney, but could only succeed in obtaining a British man’s impersonation of an American accent. Which was better than nothing.

“See? Fine. Just forgot.” Kravitz said with a smile, and he squeezed Taako’s hand with numb, cold fingers.

“You forgot to stop acting?” Taako wasn’t going to let this go, it seemed. His eyes wouldn’t leave Kravitz’s face, searching and worried. It was as if he didn’t notice the party around them, didn’t care that Killian was suddenly next to them and asking if anyone had seen Magnus.

Kravitz had forgotten to stop acting. He didn’t notice Killian, or where they were, or anything about them. He didn’t notice anything at all.

He was suffocating again, but this time it was different– it was slow and gradual until he didn’t notice the change. And things were  _dull_. He had gotten lost in thought and now, even though he wasn’t particularly thinking of anything anymore, he was gone. Words couldn’t connect themselves in his brain. He could see sights and distinguish them but couldn’t draw any conclusions from them, it seemed.

His body and any connection to it was gone, but so was his consciousness. He was underwater, watching the surface from within a muffled dome. It was almost peaceful.

He should have been worried, and he knew this. He should have been concerned or suspicious of magic at play– he probably should have told the Queen. She would have known something, or told him to do something.

But he wasn’t worried. He was just floating. Kravitz’s head was scattered and floating.

He had gotten lost in his thought and then his thought left and he just… didn’t bother to come back.

“Krav.” Taako hissed, and Kravitz looked at him blankly, having forgotten that he had to answer. What did he have to answer, again?

When he didn’t respond immediately, Taako was suddenly tugging at his arm, slinking them off to the walls of the auditorium and eventually slipping through the doors to the deserted hallway. Kravitz let himself be led, blindly stumbling behind Taako without any direction or thought. He trusted Taako, even if he wasn’t aware of what was particularly happening.

No one noticed them and no one stopped them, and soon Kravitz was being gently sat on the floor of what he recognized as a janitor’s closet. He wasn’t sure when Taako closed the door, or sat in front of him, or started talking to him. Kravitz blinked and suddenly there was half of a sentence and the familiar static of magic in the air.

“– to be any magic around you besides the normal stuff,” Taako was mumbling, and Kravitz looked down at himself to see a soft, faint red glow illuminating him.

“I don’t think…” Kravitz trailed off, simply losing his train of thought mid sentence. It was as if he was incredibly zoned out, or more perhaps like he was trying to comprehend something he just couldn’t. “I don’t… know what’s happening.”

He could feel Taako’s stare on him, could feel the question, but he simply couldn’t explain further. He didn’t know what was happening, and that was just about the extent of it.

“Do you think you’re– maybe…” Taako paused and something seemed to occur to him. A thought, or maybe an idea, that made him sigh and look at Kravitz sadly. “Can you do something for me?”

Kravitz looked at him blankly, still desperately trying to understand anything.  _Do_  something? He could hardly see anything and he was barely attached to this body by a thread of consciousness. If he could do something, if he could do  _anything_ , he would have done so by then. There wasn’t a lot that Taako could ask him to do that he could realistically accomplish.

But he nodded anyway.

Taako slid to sit beside him, burrowing close and tucking his head in the crook of Kravitz’s neck. Kravitz couldn’t feel him, couldn’t feel his warmth or his hair under his chin or the hand resting on his, but he still leaned back, resting his head atop Taako’s. The lack of pressure despite the visual cues of it was oddly eerie for the first time. Kravitz should have felt something but he didn’t, which was incredibly backwards for him.

“Name five things in this room.” Taako turned his head up and whispered into Kravitz’s jaw, quiet but still clear.

Kravitz didn’t understand what he was doing or why he was doing it, but he trusted Taako. He loved Taako. If he had asked him to name everything in the room, Kravitz would not have stopped until he had inspected every single corner and every spec of dust without question.

So he began.

“There’s… a broom.” There was the shape of a broom, the  _concept_  of a broom, so Kravitz listed it off. It was like he was colorblind, or everything was two-dimensional for some reason. He could see everything but picking them apart was so incredibly difficult. “A mop.” Was it even a mop? It looked incredibly like a broom. In fact, the same broom he just listed off. “You.” That one was easy. “Me.” But was he really  _there_?

“Excellent.” Taako said, and then asked for five more things.

Kravitz sighed, somewhere between tired and frustrated. “A… door. Desk. Garbage can.” He paused, looking around the room. As he listed things off, objects were slowly starting to take more of a shape around them. That garbage can was grey, and it was in a cylinder shape. The door was brown. “Door. A light bulb.” Did he say ‘door’ twice?

“Beautiful, babe. A real poet. What does it smell like in here?”

Kravitz shifted uncomfortably, looking around the room again. On good days his sense of smell and taste were always the most difficult to obtain. Taako would always tell him that he smelled like the night, which Kravitz didn’t understand at all. Firstly, how does the night smell like anything? And secondly, Kravitz was sure that if he smelled like anything, it should be like a decaying corpse, or perhaps like death. Even after he asked the Queen why this was and she responded that “death was not a pleasant smell” even to her, he still didn’t completely comprehend.

Kravitz was always conscious of that, and how he “smelled like the night”. Taako assured him that it was a good smell, thin and cool and comforting, but Kravitz still worried. Mortals didn’t typically smell like the night, did they? He had tried to go to a human store and buy cologne but the fact was the he couldn’t smell it, so what if he bought a bad smell? Did he even particularly want to buy a smell? Was it to be more like a mortal, or to please Taako? Definitely the latter, but if Taako wanted something that–

“Babe, you still there?”

Oh. Right.  _Here_. He’s fine, he’s here, he just got distracted.

What did Taako want again?

Smell. Right.

Kravitz took a breath through his nose, trying to pick up anything. The problem was that even if he wasn’t under this spell, or whatever he was connected to, he probably wouldn’t have smelled anything anyway.

“Um… Garbage…?” Garbage cans typically smelled like garbage, so he took a shot in the dark and guessed.

Taako sighed and pressed closer to him, leaning some weight onto him. “That’s fine. That’s on me for asking. Name three green things in here, for me?”

“ _Green_?” Kravitz repeated, a little taken aback. There weren’t many green things typically in a janitor’s closet. He looked around, lagging a bit in comprehension but mostly taking time just because he couldn’t find anything green. “Um… There’s a pen.” Did the logo on the pen being green count as the pen being  green? “Some of it is green.”

This was absurdly difficult. There just wasn’t anything green in the room, and why would Taako want him to point out something green anyway? “Love, why am I doing this?”

Taako shifted underneath him, moving away the slightest bit so he could catch Kravitz’s eye. “Are you okay?”

Was he okay? Why would Taako ask this? Kravitz was… a little tired, to be fair. And, looking around them, he suddenly came to notice that he had no idea how they had come to be sitting in a janitor’s closet. In his memory, there was a gap between meeting Magnus and suddenly being  _here_.

Of course, being as old as he was, Kravitz had forgotten things over time.He didn’t remember every single day, and why should he? But this was different than age wearing thin memories. He has forgotten the last ten minutes, so it seemed. Which want good at all.

“I'm… fine.” He answered slowly, because he  _was_  fine. He couldn’t detect any traces of magic on himself. For lack of anything else to say, he looked down at Taako and asked, “Are  _you_  okay?”

Taako sighed with a smile, slumping next to Kravitz and lacing their fingers together. “You’re unbelievable.”

That didn’t answer his question, but he knew that trying to get a straight answer out of Taako was sometimes like trying to debate with an infant. It was near impossible. “Did something happen?”

Taako kept his eyes down, tracing soft patterns into the back of Kravitz’s hand.Kravitz could feel him do so, just slightly. “You zoned out there, fella. Happens to the best of ‘em.”

“Zoned out?” He didn’t think that was quite it– his memory was just  _gone_ , not hazy.

Taako shrugged. “Magno calls it ‘dissociation’ whenever I do it.”

Kravitz had never heard of the term before– he’d have to look it up later. But it was worrying that there even  _was_  a term. “Is it… Do people often get it?”

“Some people. Sometimes.” He mumbled vaguely.

Well… okay. Kravitz had the feeling that Taako knew more and just wasn’t feeling him; apparently he experienced it before as well. And Magnus seemed to know what to call it.  Perhaps dissociation was common among mortals. (Perhaps it was shameful.)

But then why would he experience it?

Was he defective?

“That party was a bust anyway.” Taako suddenly announced loudly, making a show of stretching and draping his arms around Kravitz’s shoulders. “But I did get a hunk alone in a closet.” He smiled dopily up at Kravitz, their faces inches apart.

Kravitz felt the color of his face change. The dissociation was easily forgotten, for now. He’d let it slip away, just because for some reason there was a spark of fear buzzing in the back of his throat and he simply couldn’t address it right then next to Taako.

He wasn’t supposed to dissociate. He wasn’t supposed to feel this fear.

He wasn’t supposed to really feel anything.

He needed to talk to the Queen.

Taako’s smile widened and he pulled himself closer, then suddenly halted. Kravitz waited, already poised and ready for whatever he may or may not feel. But Taako had stopped.

“Is this okay?”

By way of answer Kravitz ducked his head and connected their lips, smiling into the kiss as he felt warmth spread through his body.  _Forget, forget for now, you couldn’t do anything anyway_.

He backed away momentarily, because as much as he wanted to forget about the whole event, it still plagued a part of him. He was afraid that the slight buzz that came from kissing Taako would become too much if he was distracted like this. “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

_Forget. Just for now._

Taako was blushing as well, and he stuttered out a quick, “Well– when I– ah, whatever,” before leaning back into another kiss, quick and full of fire.


	6. Chapter 6

Kravitz hadn’t seen the Queen for a while and his visit was overdue.

She had been communicating with him as she normally did, but they hadn’t had the time to sit and talk. She mostly spoke through gestures anyway; urges in his soul, tugging him to this area or that, and ideas in his head spoken by a quiet, detached voice. She was a heavy pressure, holding his consciousness down and tying him to being. Kravitz didn’t need to see her, and he didn’t need to report back to her as he normally did to know that she was with him. Mostly they talked simply out of formality, or perhaps just to keep him somewhat human. Throughout the latter centuries, this formality moved into friendliness.

The Raven Queen lived in what Kravitz could only assume was solitude– her physical form only seemed to exist inside of the room they met in. He couldn’t imagine her physically in any other place. She adopted that form but otherwise she simply  _was_. Kravitz knew that every time a rabbit was hunted, in every moment a fly was eaten by a spider, she lived. She breathed and existed in those moments alone, endless and beautiful. Anywhere else, any form that she adopted, was a mirage. He wondered vaguely if it was just for his sake.  

He assumed she was incapable of feeling loneliness. He had been, himself, for the longest while. Yet even when he was numb to feeling he still assumed that being that endless and unrestricted would be lonely. After all, he was, besides the gods, the only other thing on earth that could communicate directly to her. Whether or not she was lonely, talking to him must have felt like something  _new_. He was learning more and more that these “new” feelings were to be cherished– it would not surprise him if she was simply chasing that feeling.

Kravitz never asked her outright about these things. He never asked whether she was lonely, or what she could really feel, or even if she could talk to mortals. He drew his own conclusions most of the time out of boredom, but until then he had no reason to ask her. Whatever those details of her were didn’t affect him, so he didn’t care to know.

But now things had changed.

His brush with what Taako had called “dissociation” had chilled him and given him something of a reality check. It left him full of questions, itching to know the answer, and Taako was being somewhat avoidant of the topic for reasons he didn’t know.

How could he feel dissociation from his soul if he didn’t particularly have one?

This question lead to the general realization that despite Kravitz’s age, he knew nothing about reapers.

Did reapers feel things, or was he an outlier? Why did he feel like this?

Why did he feel when Magnus touched him?

Was he even the only reaper in existence?

It had been a month since then and things were quiet. The episode had left him feeling unstable and all around wary. What if that happened again while he was on a job? What if Taako wasn’t there the next time– would his consciousness drift so far that he’d detach from himself, floating until he drowned? It had felt that way before Taako talked him out. At the time he was complacent about that future, but now with a clear conscious he looked at the possibility with fear.

Taako, in his normal fashion, didn’t bring up dissociation again. In fact, if he even noticed that Kravitz was more tense he didn’t comment on it. Kravitz didn’t dissociate further, so Taako dropped it.

Kravitz was fine with whatever reason Taako used to avoid this. But he wasn’t fine with just letting it go.

When Kravitz appeared in the chamber room of the Queen things were unusually tense.

The Queen was lounged in her throne, sat as if she were expecting his arrival. He supposed she was, if she existed in that form purely for him. Her mask gazed at him with what was almost stony conviction.

As took a step forward he felt a strange thickness to the air that had never been there before. His soul was being pressed, confined in this room. Though he knew he could escape the room whenever he pleased and he knew the Queen would never force him there, the feeling that he was somehow trapped held him in a vice grip. Which wasn’t his own doing– it just seemed the effect of the room. It was manipulating him.

“Kravitz. It’s been too long.” She said, and through customary actions he swept his form forward, kneeling and lightly taking her gloved hand, kissing it gently. Her mask and her aura did not change, and she watched him silently as he took a few steps back.

His throne did not appear behind him as it normally did, welcoming him to the only place he could possibly call home.

“My apologies, my Queen– I’ve been preoccupied.”

He said it with guilt, and the feeling of being trapped was drawing the words from his lips involuntarily. He had free time between his jobs, it was just that the time was now spent with Taako instead of her.

Normally she was understanding.

But it had been a while. Things were different. The room was pressing. Something was wrong.

“You’ve been with Taako.” She said with finality. “And you know there’s a war happening.”

Kravitz felt something sink in his stomach. He hadn’t expected her to be friendly, but he wasn’t expecting this. She liked Taako– she’d told Kravitz before. She said that she thought Taako was good for him. She had even briefly alluded to wanting to meeting him.

Something was wrong.

“My apologies, Queen, I–”

“You what?” She asked, and the room changed.

Within a matter of seconds the room had grown unbelievably cold. Kravitz couldn’t shiver from it and he found he wasn’t bothered by it, but he could still feel it within every crevice in his being. The Raven Queen had never been upset at him before, not like this.

This was sudden. This wasn’t right.

“I know why you’ve come, Kravitz, and I’m not happy.”

She was standing and her throne was gone. Her figure had always been smaller than him; petite and lithe, like he could shatter her if he touched her wrong. Yet the power radiating from her was different now; she normally kept it carried and contained, soft and full of potential.

Now she was bristling and he could feel the edge of its heat.

“You wait for months to see me, and why? Because you want to know about your new feelings, then disappear when you have your answer?”

Then there was something new. A vice grip, squeezing and confining his chest. Though he had never felt the need to breathe a sense of suffocation was enveloping him, and he could do nothing but stand silently. For the first time since he had known her, he felt fear of the Raven Queen. Terrible, cold fear that left him speechless.

“You play where you are not allowed. You stay in the mortal world, falling in  _love_ , ignoring me because you need a  _break_. You need to  _rest_ , is that it?”

The grip squeezed. She did not move.

“Kravitz, I cannot deny that you have become my favorite but this is our deal. You are not allowed to rest. You made your choice the moment you died and it is you duty to fulfill it.”

Then she took a step forward. The bands around him were suddenly gone and he crumbled, gasping for air. She had not caused him physical pain to his body– there was something in his being, some part of his consciousness, that had been bruised and crushed when it was never even supposed to be touched.

“I pitied you. I molded the rules for you. I gave you feelings– you do not get the privilege to escape them, and if I deny you an explanation you will accept my choice.”

Kravitz was scared, for the first time since he was alive, and even then he hadn’t ever felt like this. To be at the receiving end of a god’s wrath was already terrifying, but this particular god happened to be his boss. She controlled him, from where he was to the mere fact of whether or not he existed.

He had come to realize that he had things he wanted to be around for. He stood on unstable legs.

“My Queen, I…” He didn’t have any explanation. Kravitz could offer no apologies and no barters. Though he hadn’t thought about his deal since it had been made all those years ago, she was right. He wasn’t allowed to rest. Kravitz had always discarded that part of the deal. He had no where and no desire to rest, in whatever sense that term was used, and so he paid it no mind.

But now he was indulging in human activities without noticing. He took breaks from his work out of pure leisure. He made relationships with mortals. Kravitz was out of line, and the Raven Queen would not let him leave.

“You wish to know about yourself? About who you are?” The Queen was furious, but amidst it all she was oddly  _human_  about showing her rage. With her endless power she decided to simply step forward and harden her voice. Even so, the effect was clear.

“You came to me broken, Kravitz, do you remember? You were a shell of a soul– you were broken beyond what any mortal soul can repair.  _I_  was kind.  _I_  was merciful, and I crafted you emotions, you just never bothered to use them!”

She had been pacing but suddenly she stopped, her cloak whirling around her as her sharp gaze caught him. “There is a war happening and half the time you never check in because you’re getting absorbed in those damn feelings. You left me to worry, Kravitz!”

And then, just like that, she stopped.

The ice was still suffocating the air but she seemed to be done talking. The Queen simply stood there, glaring down Kravitz as he waited for her to continue, his chest tightly constricted of its own accord in anxiety.

But she offered nothing more. She was waiting.

Frantically, though he had limitless time, he tried to recount what she had said through his fear. She had given him emotions because he was broken– that was the sentence his brain gave him as a conclusion, but the idea of it was so vast and complex he couldn’t possibly linger on it then. Instead he tried to gather what she had said she was angry about.

And… that didn’t make sense, either.

“You… you’re worried about me?”

The Queen said nothing, staring at him stoically behind her mask.

Kravitz had to bite back a moan of relief, and then he had to repress a smile. The latter didn’t work too well. “All of these theatrics because you were worried about my welfare? We’re connected. I cannot die, my Queen. You know this.” His voice was surprisingly steady, even if his hands shook in his pockets.

She let out a groan of exasperation and the room actually pulsed, sending shock waves through his consciousness. His smile faltered. “Kravitz, there are things far worse than death.”

He was extremely aware of this. Hell, according to her, his soul had been so shattered he was nearly beyond repair, even after death (which… was a terrifying concept he’d think extensively about later). “So–”

“What do you want to know, Kravitz?” She snapped, and with a waver in the air her throne had been conjured.

Kravitz smiled briefly at the avoidance, but this is what he had been waiting for. This was why he had visited. He had a list to ask about, and he wanted to start. He cleared his throat, still trying to shake off the last waves of fear. She was done with this topic, and if she was done that meant  _he_  was done, too. Time to move on. “Are there others like me?”

The Queen stared at him for a while before folding herself into her throne, perching and crossing her legs as she normally did. “You’ll never meet them.”

Oh.

“But they exist?”  
“I cannot tell you that. It is possible that they can coexist with you. Whether or not they exist here, in the same universe as you, is open-ended.”

It wasn’t the answer that he was expecting, but he wasn’t quite sure what he had wanted to hear, either. She was deliberately being vague, and he knew this and had to accept it. He had to move on before he pressed too much.

“You said earlier that you had created my emotions….”

He wasn’t sure what he specifically wanted to ask. Kravitz just needed  _more_  than that. He needed more than a vague answer. She seemed to know this, as she always knew what he wanted.

“Your emotions are  selective.” She said hesitantly. “Do you remember what it was that I said separated the living from the dead?”

When Kravitz didn’t answer, she continued, “Love. The living have an endless supply of love. The dead cannot linger because of it– they are fueled by vengeance.

You are neither completely dead nor are you alive. You feel because you are falling in love, Kravitz.”

It sounded much different when someone said it aloud.

“I… I felt Magnus Burnsides, the other day, when he touched my shoulder.” Kravitz quietly replied, all formalities and fear dropped. He was starving for anything he could take.

The Queen’s mask flickered with a smile. “You don’t have to be romantically involved with someone to love them, Kravitz. You know this.”

He did– or perhaps he had, long ago. Something clicked in his brain and he sat, unaware of when his throne appeared behind him but trusting it would be there.

He loved Magnus.

It was odd and simply not right to think, but once he reminded himself of the context things cleared. Kravitz did care for Magnus, even if he didn’t even know him that well. Taako cared about Magnus, and so in turn Kravitz had learned to care for him. If Magnus died, Taako would be unhappy, so  _Kravitz_  would be unhappy, too. It was simply that easy, he supposed.

Or… maybe it wasn’t. “But I couldn't… it wasn’t as strong as…”

As he said this he trailed off, realizing his answer. Of course he didn’t feel Magnus like he felt Taako. He barely knew him. It was love and care by association to Taako that he was able to notice Magnus. Of course it wasn’t strong.

“You’re becoming wise, Kravitz.” The Queen mumbled, and Kravitz smiled briefly.

He paused then, trying to think of  more questions. She was answering him, and for the first time in centuries he could learn something about himself, but when the time came he simply couldn’t remember any questions he had. The answers she’d already given him echoed in his head, trapped and reverberating. He couldn’t think about them, not here, but he also couldn’t get past them.

“The others,” He started, then caught himself. “If they even happen to exist. Did you… do they– could they feel, as well?”

“I’ve told you, Kravitz. Your feelings have nothing to do with your state of being, not per say.”

She paused then, quiet as she calculated something. He could feel her energy settling, swirling like a dust storm before it rested around them like sparks. A wave of warmth rippled from her, quiet and comforting. His soul rattled against his ribs, tugging and yearning to go to her.

“You haven’t thought about how you died, have you?”

There came another pulse, more quiet than the last. His soul was silent.

“I’ve never had reason to.”

His life was passed. It was gone and impossible to retrieve. Everything from then was gone– his home, his family, his life. That Kravitz was dead, long dead, and why would the new Kravitz ever look back? What would be the purpose? He no longer craved that love that he once held, and he no longer had any means of retrieving it.

Kravitz was constantly moving forward, always.

“Kravitz, do you remember how you died?”

He nodded, and like clockwork recited, “Twenty three pills.”

The pulse that came next was like a fire, scalding his soul but leaving no mark.

The Queen shifted in her chair and her hand was still on the arm rest but now also– somehow– celestial. A hand was floating towards him, invisible but sensible. Though he could not see it there the hand was cradling his essence, plunged into his chest, turning it over and smoothing it down. The hand felt like warm, it felt like home, and beside himself he sighed and closed his eyes. The hand was heat that he’d never truly felt before, not completely. He’d feel it by Taako’s hand, Taako leaning on him, kissing him, sleeping next to him– but only mortally, only on certain parts of himself. This warmth engulfed him, cradled him, hummed in his ears and smoothed his hair and held his hand all at once. It was unconditional and godly.

“Kravitz, you died by your own hand. You were distraught with grief and guilt. You were  _depressed_ , Kravitz. Suicidal. And this has never changed. Simply… avoided. Left without a conclusion.

I don’t give second chances, not normally. But Kravitz, you had potential and you wasted it. I was angry at you, angry that you thought you could change what Istus planned for you. But you didn’t fight me– you let go, you gave up.

You died because you wanted to die, and since then you haven’t wanted to live. You haven’t used your emotions until now. You have never reconciled with your past; you have let go but you have let go without your heart.

You are not human. When I created your emotions, I did the best I could. But you are meddling in a time stream that is not your own, with a state of being that you do not belong to. Your emotions work differently from theirs, of course they do.

I think you’ll find that things will be easier after you find peace, Kravitz.”

When he opened his eyes he was in Taako’s bed, bathed in moonlight beside a sleeping body, and he was cold.

Kravitz just stared at Taako’s face, party because a dozen things were racing through his mind with the leftover warmth from the Queen, but mostly because for the first time in his life there was a song to the night that he could physically hear. There was a rhythm to how the moonlight fell, a beating of the moon. A pair of lips gently whispering a breeze to the stars as they sparkled for the wind. The grass on the world rose and fell, they rose like petals caught in a sweeping tornado, the quietness of the room he lay in sang quietly and with an alto pitch, the darkness was a soft baritone.

He could hear it all. The hand on his heart was gone and it left him eerily exposed but also  _open_.

The elf in front of him was his own song, lithe and quiet and quick. Kravitz could hear it circle him, engulf his own quiet soul as he listened. He could never keep up with the tune– he could only watch it, turning in circles to hear the melody prance across the sky, golden and beautiful. Cracked and staccato and somehow not completely whole, but beautiful.

But when Kravitz tried to join the chorus, tried to hum his own tune and listen to it, there was suddenly a clear barrier where there was never before. He listened to the world, he listened to everything at once, all of the colors that filled the sky with a quiet splendour, and noticed that he was completely and utterly quiet.

He was suddenly shaking Taako, softly and with hands that were devoid of feeling but left lukewarm streaks across his skin. Kravitz needed this silence to end, needed to be part of the world, needed to wake up. The Queen had been right– she had always been right, she had never been wrong– and he needed to do what was right, needed to somehow do something, and he needed to–

“Krav?”

Taako rubbed his eyes sleepily, squinting at him in the dark. He was always a light sleeper, considering he didn’t need to sleep at all. He also always made a large deal of waking up in the morning, however– clutching onto Kravitz and mumbling that he ‘may never be happy ever again in his life if Kravitz left the bed (no offense)’. Complaining theatrically about how tired he was as he unraveled his hair from its nightly bun while dousing himself in coffee was generally how Taako woke up. As if he couldn’t fall asleep and wake himself up with the blink of an eye.

Kravitz looked, for a long moment, at Taako and shook his head slightly.

He couldn’t tell Taako.

He was  _afraid_. He was afraid. He was afraid.

“Nothing, darling. Go back to sleep.”

His nails clicked against the wood, steadily and anxiously.

Taako busied with making coffee, humming to himself and occasionally yawning. A radio played in the background and the song sounded old. Some sort of song that could only be replayed on records until recent years. Taako didn’t particularly like the song, but he liked the atmosphere it set up.

Kravitz had been thinking all night.

“Three sugars, or two?” Taako asked him, pouring coffee equally into two mugs. One of the mugs was incredibly colorful and incredibly poorly made. It was constructed of what looked like cheap clay and was cracked at the top. (On the bottom of it was scrawled, in Taako’s elegant handwriting, “Angus, 10”.) The second mug was ceramic and black and looked brand new from the Fantasy Costco.

“Four.” Kravitz said absently, now slowly rubbing his fingers over the table’s wood. Every crevice was familiar.

There was the sound of four sugar cubes falling into liquid–  _plop, plop, plop, plop_ – and feet on tile.

A body draped itself on his back, arms lacing around his neck as he was handed coffee in a brightly colored mug. A chin rested on his shoulder, a head leaned against his and hummed contently. Kravitz was thankful for the pressure.

Several silent moments passed like that, the deep, bass-filled song of coffee warming the room.

“Magnus wants us over for lunch,” Taako mumbled after a while, sounding incredibly uninterested. “He’s inviting Avi and Johann, too. It’ll be weird, but I said yes. Avi makes baller hot sauce.”

Kravitz was staring into the black liquid in his mug, completely silent.

Fear, fear, fear.

Everything was silent, for a long while.

Then Taako spoke, drawing a light thumb against Kravitz’s collarbone.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, dear?”

_Color, color, sound, song, life, live, listen._

Gods, he was lonely.

“My brother.” Kravitz said, and he turned to look at Taako. “I had a brother.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has WILD misconceptions by kravitz about suicide.

Taako was quiet and still, and Kravitz couldn’t blame him. There really was no protocol for this because Taako had no idea what it meant. Distantly Kravitz almost felt bad for him– he was always springing up challenges for the elf. He was likely more trouble than he was worth, even though he tried his hardest not to burden Taako with his troubles (though he supposed that personal policy was going out the window after this conversation).

“You… what? Come again?”

Kravitz held onto his coffee mug, aware that it should have been burning hot. He had hoped that some of the heat would jar him out of his hazy state and scald him back to reality and to a clear line of thinking, but he could hardly feel the warmth. He wasn’t dissociated, not quite. He was aware of everything, he could distinguish things, smell the coffee, he just… was lost. Kravitz wasn’t sure how to feel, and he wasn’t sure if he could even feel or if he  _was_  feeling and just didn’t have a name for it.

He loved his brother. He  _did_  love his brother. He had thought that love was gone for so long but according to the Queen it wasn’t. According to her, he was simply that detached, that far gone from his brother’s…. from what happened to him.

“I had a brother.” Kravitz said again, and Taako shifted so that he could pull out a chair and sit next to him, drawing in close. Taako was interested in whatever story Kravitz could tell about his past. He always had been, but Kravitz would brush him off constantly. Why should it matter? Why bring up what was long gone? What mattered was that he was Kravitz, right there and then, and he loved Taako. He was whole and  _there_  and the past didn’t affect that.

Except… now he knew he  _wasn’t_  whole. He wasn’t  _there_.

He had a brother.

“You had a brother?”

Kravitz nodded. “He’s now….” And slowly, after some hesitation, he put a hand up to his lips and smiled bitterly.

All these years and he still couldn’t proclaim his brother dead. Physically the words wouldn’t come. It was beyond stupid and illogical– so much time had passed and he quite literally felt nothing for it– but he hadn’t ever  _dealt_  with it, had he? He had never made any new memories to make his brother’s death dull and faint, so he simply had to ignore it. Detach himself from it.

The Queen was right.

“He’s dead.” He said, and his voice was strong but quiet. “He died a long time ago, a year before I did.”

Once the words started, he couldn’t stop them. Taako listed to everything.

Taako had always asked how Kravitz died, right from the start. Kravitz didn’t blame Taako, not really, for his curiosity– it wasn’t as if it was a taboo or  _wrong_  thing to ask a reaper (he didn’t think, anyway). He’d want to know about his own history, too. It was a sad story, but it was entertaining, and it wasn’t like someone could meet an undead all the time. But he’d push him away from that part of his past– it was an ugly, unnecessary part, and the worst thing about it was that he hadn’t ever felt sadness or remorse because of it. His indifference to his past made him inhuman, and though he technically was inhuman, he was starting to learn this was an undesirable thing. So Kravitz would repress it.

He’d redirect Taako purposefully. Make up a fantasy they both knew wasn’t true. He had been a pirate. He owned a beautiful ship, he had not a care in the world besides his gold, and he had once held a long-term relationship with a giant squid. Kravitz had been a beautiful prince, ruler of a small and prosperous land, and he had died trying to protect a dragon who had been wronged. Kravitz had been a swindler, a thief. A racer, or a magician. He’d been whatever sounded impressive. He’d been whoever could make Taako smile, and that was enough for the both of them.

Because in reality, Kravitz had been a depressed young common man who died alone by his own hand. He had become consumed with grief and destroyed himself. He had pushed away those he loved and had drank away his sorrows; he had been a disappointment and a ghost. Kravitz had no heroic death, surrounded by the people who loved him and were changed for the better by knowing him. In that year before he died he was not beautiful, he was not glorious, and he was not exciting. He was empty, and no one liked stories that ended in sorrow.

“He was younger than me, by about twenty years. He died when I was twenty seven.

He was small for his age.”

That’s where he stopped, just for a moment.

Something like a block was building in his throat, and he wasn’t sure what it was. He couldn’t tell what he was feeling– there was something pressing him, some bittersweetness that he hadn’t felt in centuries and he couldn’t put a name to, not anymore.

“He looked a little like Angus.”

He looked almost  _exactly_  like Angus, which was something he wouldn’t tell Taako. The face was altered, of course, and his brother’s hair was straight and a little longer, but from the back Angus looked like him.

Kravitz knew that if this– his past– ever came up in conversation with the boy, he’d never tell Angus. It was an expectation that was too unfair to live up to. Kravitz didn’t hold Angus to a standard, he didn’t expect him to fill this hole that his younger brother left, but Angus might think otherwise. He was still young, after all.

“What was he like?” Taako asked, and carefully there were a few fingers playing at his sleeve’s cufflink, folding it and wrinkling it absently. Kravitz could sometimes feel Taako’s fingers brush against his wrist, but mostly he felt the fabric ruffle. It was comforting and quiet to him– Taako knew Kravitz, and he knew what he’d want to feel in the moment. It was honestly incredibly sweet.

“He was…”

Sunshine, dirty fingernails, straw hats, scuffed knees, storybooks in Kravitz’s bed in the morning light.

“Mine.” And that’s the best word he can use; his brother was  _his_. “I looked after him. I taught him how to run the farm when I was away. I taught him piano, even if he wasn’t that good.” Kravitz was his brother’s caretaker, as it was customary in his time that the older siblings looked after the younger. Kravitz made his brother lunch, he went shopping with his brother, he brought his brother to social gatherings, and that was  _right_. His brother went to  _him_  if he had any problems, and Kravitz would tell off any bullies that his brother had. If his brother had gotten any older, Kravitz would have been the one to send him off to a boarding school. He would have been the one that his brother would write home to.

A wave of something  _new_  hit him, directly onto the block in his throat. It stretched his soul, pulled it in a way he’d never felt. It was uncomfortable and almost painful but Kravitz had a feeling that  _this_  was what the Queen wanted. This is what he had ignored and this is what he had died for. He had spent centuries avoiding this and avoiding the feelings with it.

So he continued. He looked out of the window and brushed a lock of his hair behind his ear and continued.

“I… When he was sick, I read to him in my bed. He’d climb up and tug on my shirt and ask for a story. Sometimes he’d bring his own, but mostly he asked me to make one up. He’d fall asleep halfway in, and I would tease him that… That he wasn’t tired, I…. just wasn’t good enough.”

There was something personal about all of this, and for the first time he wondered if this was meant for anyone but him.

He wasn’t particularly ashamed, or sad, or remorseful of these memories. He just hadn’t thought of them for so long– so many things were hazy in his memory just due to time. What book was his brother’s favorite? Did he get sick often? Was there a new story each time Kravitz had to make one up, or did he follow the same plot tale to tale? He simply didn’t know anymore.

Logically, he wasn’t guilty that he had forgotten these details– anyone would have. It had been centuries since he dusted them off and really observed them. Yet… they were  _his_. No other living being on this planet knew about these things– he wasn’t sure the Queen even knew–, was there something sacred in keeping them to himself? Did they even mean anything to someone who wasn’t him?

Kravitz wasn’t sure, but his eyes flickered to Taako’s face briefly and he decided that if he wanted anyone to share them with, it would be him. If there was anyone that deserved to know who Kravitz had been or where he came from, it would be Taako. Patient Taako, who was watching him with a quiet expression of interest and adoration. Taako, who waited so many months to even catch a glimpse of these stories. Taako, the elf that Kravitz was incredibly in love with.

“He liked the chickens most of all, but spent most of the time with the horses because that’s where I liked to be the most and he wanted to be around me. He was afraid of them, seeing as he was half their height. I teased him about it.

He was curious, and he was quiet, and he was my shadow. He would follow me until I would tuck him in the night and leave for the city.”

He’d have to check the closet for monsters.

What would his brother think of him now? How would he react to knowing that  _he_  was now the monster, the sickening and cold being that people feared?

Kravitz smiled to himself briefly. Well, he’d probably ask if Kravitz himself was cold, and then he’d offer his coat, because that’s what Kravitz told him to do whenever someone mentioned they were cold. Of course his coat would be too small for any adult to wear, but… Kravitz had always taught him, he always said that it was the thought that counted…

Just like that, he had to stop talking about his brother. Things were too quiet, too sharp. The lump in his throat wouldn’t allow him to continue– even as he changed subjects it persisted, but subsided just a little.

Kravitz knew what else there was to say, anyway.

“I… left for the city every night.”

He had made a name for himself out there. A smile crept onto his face, soft and reminiscent. He wasn’t sure why.

“There was a tavern my friends and I would go to– I lived on a farmhouse, a little ways away from the downtown scene. I enjoyed the farmhouse but… Taako, I was young, and I was bored, and…”

_And you would have liked me better then._

The realization struck him hard, and he was left speechless for a few long moments.

He used to be so  _lively_.

Every night he would gather his friends and saunter with them, arm in arm, down the main street of the city. The streetlamps would illuminate the women they bid good evening to with a fiendish, harmless grin. The music carrying from windows would entice them to dance short jiggs and kick their boots in the dirt as they talked about the town’s gossip.

Kravitz couldn’t remember any of their names or faces, but they were like his brothers. He’d shove into them and jump onto their backs and race them. That Kravitz, the Kravitz who was alive, was  _rough_  and energetic and boisterous and  _loud_. Unrecognizable.

He’d shove open the door to a bar and people would clasp him on the back and call his name and he’d answer with a smile as his group slid onto their usual stools. The bartender would know what to get him and she’d ask how his mother was, and he’d thank her for thinking of them.

Then he’d dance.

(Line dancing was his favorite. Back then he couldn’t carry a tune and he couldn’t match a rhythm.)

And before any of this he would don himself with his most expensive clothes. Beautiful royal blues and bright violet dress shirts, with a white vest or overcoat and striped slacks. He wouldn’t wear makeup– he’d probably sneer at the gold Kravitz now so bountifully wore. He wouldn’t have golden eyeliner, he wouldn’t wear loops of shimmering earrings that connected like spiderwebs. His hands would be bare, not heavy with simple golden bands, and his hair wouldn’t have small hoops woven in…

He’d be colorful. Like Taako was.

He’d laugh and smile and shout out the lyrics to a song with his friends and drink until he felt warm inside and out, and he’d dance until sweat trickled down his forehead.

He’d go home, sleep off the hangover, get up, sing show tunes as he worked on the farm with his brother, then do everything all over again.

That Kravitz had been  _alive_ , but most of all he’d been a part of life. He had his own song.

For a moment, while talking about his brother, Kravitz had felt almost reconnected. He was not that old Kravitz, not really, but that Kravitz’s brother was still  _his_  brother. Kravitz couldn’t be sure of himself but he could be sure of that kid and of the memories he held. Kravitz felt, for once, like he had been  _part_  of those memories.

But now remembering who he had been made things quiet again.

It was so unbelievable and distant because he  _had_  changed so much. Kravitz now was  _quiet_. He’d like to think of himself as polite, and he could certainly play the violin well, but that was all he had. He wasn’t loud anymore. He wasn’t ambitious, he wasn’t  _exuberant_ , he wasn’t well known and loved.

He was a reaper. A quiet, subdued being that could barely register feelings and thoughts on a bad day.

Gods, Taako would have loved who he was. That, to Kravitz, was the truth.

Taako would have gotten along with his friends, he would have approved of what Kravitz wore, he would have loved to go line dancing and he would have wanted to watch Kravitz get drunk. Taako would have wanted to see that young blooded Kravitz, so alive and promiscuous.

Kravitz had gone long enough thinking that he was good enough for Taako, and just barely. He had always kept the thought in the recess of his mind– Taako said he loved him, and Kravitz believed him, but Kravitz was also  _different_. He wasn’t suited for a mortal lifestyle. He was still sometimes physically cold, he still sometimes got too wound up, he still came with a set of challenges that no one could or should ever face.

But now the worst part of it was that even though Taako confirmed he loved Kravitz though all of his faults (though Taako only called them ‘differences’), he didn’t know what Kravitz  _could_  have given him. He didn’t know the potential. He didn’t know how happy he could be, how much  _more_  Kravitz could give him.

Because that Kravitz was now dead.

With that thought came another realization that hit Kravitz with more force than the last.

Kravitz was  _dead_. He  _committed suicide_ , because  _his brother was dead_.

Oh, gods.

For the first time he felt connected to who he was– he was a second stage of that person. He was looking at his own history, not the history of someone else, and he was horrified.

He was also… ashamed.

He had everything. He had a brother, he had parents, he had an estate and he had a song and gods, he had a  _part_  to play in life.

And Kravitz just threw it all away.

“Krav? You don’t have to…”

Finger gently pried his own off of the scalding coffee cup, but it didn’t matter, did it? Kravitz couldn’t feel it, because he was dead, because he killed himself.

He had a chance, he had a shot, he had a  _future_  and he threw it away.

For once, since he had died, he truly saw being a reaper as the curse it was meant to be.

What would his friends say– the ones that he called his brothers, the ones that were pushed away in that final year? Would they be ashamed of him, ashamed of his memory? Would they scoff at how he died, disgusted and wondering how he could have done that to himself? Did they show up to his funeral?

Did he even  _have_  a funeral?

And what about his mother and his father? Would they shame him for giving in, for not being strong enough? Would they cry?  _Did_  they cry? They outlived both of their children– no parent should ever have to do that.

And… and what about his brother?

Kravitz sat, still as the world around him. All of these mortal feelings were suffocating him, flooding him and dragging him underneath a tidal wave and  _he could do nothing about it_.

He couldn’t raise his family from the dead and even if he could, what would he do? Apologize? Beg for forgiveness? That didn’t matter now.

“Earth to Krav, come in skeletor.”

Kravitz looked at Taako, not quite taking him in but listening to his worried voice, trying to smile and make light of things, trying to clear Kravitz’s mind.

He looked at Taako and was absolutely distraught.

Taako deserved him when he was  _alive_. He wasn’t aware of it, he didn’t know who Kravitz had been, but  _gods_  he would have loved him. And Kravitz could have returned that love with everything he could– he’s  _always_  loved Taako unconditionally, and he’s  _always_  given him his whole heart, but he could have given  _more_. If Taako knew about the man he was so many centuries ago, he wouldn’t look twice at who he was  _now_.

That’s wasn’t all, either. Taako didn’t really know him, did he? He knew… Gods, he knew everything– he knew how he liked his tea, he knew what songs he liked, he knew how he slept, he knew  _everything_ – but he didn’t know what had gone by to make him like this.

If Taako knew he had committed suicide, and if he knew that he  _wasted_  himself to nothing, how could he not be ashamed?

“Kravitz, come at me, buddy. Wake up.”

He loved Taako. He loved him so damn much.

“I have to go,” Kravitz said, and the next few moments were a blur.

He stood as Taako asked what was wrong and he lied  _again_. The Queen was calling, she wanted him, he had to go, he’s sorry love, he has to leave– Taako was yelling at him, saying that was shit, and why can’t he say these things? What could possibly be so bad– Taako  _loves him_ , no matter what (but he doesn’t, he doesn’t, he shouldn’t, he won’t)–

He was telling him to stay, grabbing at Kravitz’s coat, please stay, please talk to me, please don’t leave me, please don’t go, don’t go, Kravitz I don’t know what you’re doing but don’t, don’t–

Kravitz was out in the hallway, his mind so completely blocked with thoughts and feeling that he seemed to have forgotten to use his magic to go. He had to leave Taako behind, the Queen was right, he  _shouldn’t_  be meddling in with mortals, there was a  _reason_  he was dead, and damn it all he loved Taako so much and his soul ached from leaving Taako alone but–

“I’m sorry…?”

He hadn’t even felt himself shove into a body walking down the hallway, but the voice coming from it made him stop.

He looked over his shoulder, unaware of when he had closed Taako’s door, or even made it halfway down the hall and to the elevator.  For the first time since he was alive there was a heart in his chest, as if he’d never noticed there before until now, and it was breaking.

“Who might you be? Do you have clearance to this area of the Bureau?”

The woman talking to him was nobody he’d ever seen before. She was tall and almost gaunt, and the two physically noteworthy things about her was her slick, braided white hair and the fact that she looked downright  _exhausted_. She held, in her slightly shaking hand, a bottle of pills and a prescription.

Yet something different caught Kravitz when he looked at her. A voice, tiny and small and frail, whispered a single word into his consciousness.

 _Wrong_.

It was immediate, and he didn’t have the ability to think it through, not then. But something inside of him– some part of the Queen, some voice of hers– screamed at him that this woman was  _wrong_. She had done something wrong. Kravitz didn’t know what– he didn’t even  _know_  her– but the Queen was not happy with her.

“Hello? Are you okay?”

Kravitz could feel something tugging at his soul, he could hear a deafening, violent voice in his head telling him to  _take her, kill her, she’s done something wrong she’s gone beyond herself she’s meddled with Istus_ , but he didn’t answer the call. He could deal with whoever this woman was later, first he had to leave.

He turned back and opened a portal to the void room, slipping into the quietness and emptiness of the astral plane.

(The woman behind him took a few steps forward before faltering back into stillness. She worried at her bottom lip for a few moments before turning back to where Taako’s room was, her eyes shifting between his door and the bottle of pills in her hand.)

Kravitz wasn’t sure what he was going to ask the Queen. He wasn’t sure, honestly, if he had anything to ask the Queen at all. He just needed to be safe– he needed to be where he wasn’t riddled with guilt, where he had all the time he needed to sort himself out, collect himself, and…  _deal_  with himself. He loved Taako, and he felt safe in his apartment– he practically lived there– but Taako didn’t  _know_  and he would only try to reassure Kravitz, try to calm him down, when Kravitz simply didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve Taako and how brilliant he was. Not yet, and maybe not ever.

When Kravitz entered the room, he still couldn’t find words to say to her. Would he tell her that she was right? He could start by apologizing, surely, but for what? And with what words? Did she already know the ordeal that he just went through?

But… that didn’t matter. She wasn’t there.

Kravitz looked around the room, shocked by his discovery, but it was no longer the small, plain cube shape. It was vast now and strangely endless– the walls were still jet black but they had no depth to them. They could have been miles away as easily as mere centimeters away.

In this endless space the Queen  _wasn’t there_. Her throne wasn’t empty, it was  _gone_.

She had never been gone like that before. Her physical human form existed, from what he assumed, purely in this room alone for his own eyes. Without that form he was under the impression that the room itself wouldn’t exist, either, but apparently he was wrong.

But why would the Queen leave, specifically without telling him? Why would she not redirect him? Why could he not even feel her presence in the room?

Kravitz had just enough time and thought to hesitantly draw his scythe before a back tendril, burning hot and lined with piercing edges, grasped his leg and wrenched him down into the floor of the room, straight to a sea of black nothingness.


	8. Chapter 8

Kravitz had fought for so long but things stayed the same.

The same space, the same suffocation, the same indescribable monsters. The same loneliness.

He had no idea what was happening and he didn’t have the time to focus and figure it out.

They were  _everywhere_.

He could make it to dry land only to have a tendril wrap itself around his form again, dragging him back underneath the sea of ink.They cut into his skin, slicing his flesh and giving him no rest with their restriction. It seemed the injuries went deeper than his body, as well– his soul was weak and fatigued and he could feel it drain, bit by bit. He was sure the only thing that kept him alive was his tie to the Queen.

Even there he could not draw any conclusions. She wasn’t answering him; his shouts for her were left unheard and his soul was never drawn in any direction for guidance. He was never given a sign, or a message, or even an idea. Only a short amount of time after he had begun to fight he felt a  _snap_  in his soul that nearly let a tendril get the best of him, and somehow he knew some part of the tie the two of them held was broken. With that snap he felt a pain unlike any other– the thing that tied his dead soul to life was obstructed and broken.

Kravitz was truly alone.

He fought through what he could in an attempt to surface. He just had to get one moment to close the doors to the astral plane and escape to the mortal plane, where hopefully he could try to contact the Queen again. Or… or even if he could just see Taako.

Whenever Kravitz had just a moment, a split second before he had to slash at another column of inexplicable darkness, he thought about Taako.

Kravitz was stuck in a loop and a cycle. His purpose, his sole routine and action, had become to fight and desperately try to survive. He thought of relatively nothing else, he did nothing else, he wasn’t even able to see anything else.

So he had stopped being able to feel anything else but the darkness.

He could feel the sharp, piercing blades cut into his arm, he could feel the tendrils wrap around his scythe and attempt to jerk him to one side or another, he could feel his own soul grow weary and tired. He could feel his soul stretch and search when he screamed for the Queen.

There was nothing else to feel. No content happiness, no reflectiveness, no fullness, no anxiety, no hand on his arm, his chest, his leg, no love, no hope, no fear, no sadness. He couldn’t feel regret for leaving Taako as he had, unaware at the time that he may never see him again.

He had to stay grounded, he  _had_  to remember Taako, he  _had_  to hold on to the knowledge and hope that Taako still loved him. He refused to lose feeling again– he wasn’t even sure it was possible, but the thought of it was terrifying. Kravitz couldn’t go back to that, he simply couldn’t.

It became harder and harder as time progressed (though did it really progress? He felt like he was fighting for centuries, but when there was no Queen to manipulate time in the room it just  _moved_  as it wanted to). With each wave of the vile thing attacking him mercilessly, thought became so much more difficult. His body would move further and further away from his soul until he felt like there was only a string attaching himself to being awake and conscious. It was his only hope and his only sign that the Queen was not dead. It was the only thing that kept him feeling, if only pain, because without it his body would continue fighting until it burnt out while his soul would leave completely.

For what felt like years Kravitz fought. He became nearly mindless and he simply struggled through an endless abyss of silence and fear. He tried to survive, alone.

Until something had broken him out of the trance.

It was a song.

Kravitz hadn’t heard the sounds of the mortal plane in so long and he was stunned that something  _different_  was happening. He hadn’t heard anything other than the single, slow and steady note of whatever assailed him for however long. When the notes played he blinked out of a trance that he hadn’t noticed he slipped into, and a wave of fatigue that he had been ignoring washed over him.

Yet Kravitz took just a moment to pause and listen to the song. It was only seven notes simple and noticeable, but the story it carried with it left him breathless.

A tendril of the Hunger wrapped around his scythe as he floated in the abyss, momentarily shocked by what he had heard, and tried to drag him further down. But things had changed with this song, and when he pulled back on his scythe a new burst of strength coursed through him.

He  _had_  to get to Taako.

 

Something tugs at his soul, approximately (what Kravitz estimates to be) an hour later. It’s a burst of magic, some sort of spell, that not only latches onto his soul but goes so far as to physically enclose itself around his body.

Kravitz painfully resurfaces with the help of this magic, just for a moment, and is able to slip out of the dangers of the void room and into the ruins of a desolate town.

When he lands, kneeling and  _ruined_ , there is a silence in the air, save for a ringing in his ear.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t look up, and doesn’t even dare to blink. All he can do is stare at the earth below him, solid and  _not moving_. He can breathe and he can attempt to stay awake.

After a few seconds he moves his hands, now in front of him and empty. The dirt crumbles beneath them and catches in his nails. He can’t feel the uncomfortableness of it.

Sounds come to him then. The air is humming and alive with magic. It swirls around him, creating a soft tone that muffles what sounds like a distant fight. It’s  _warm_ , which would normally be odd but Kravitz could have just potentially spent centuries in a room void of all feeling. Even the ground beneath his fingers is warm now, and despite the fact that he knows nothing about his surroundings, he just kneels and tries to let it– the fact that he’s  _alive_  and has a moment to breathe– sink in.

It doesn’t sink in– nothing does.

Kravitz tries to breathe, tries to not let this fresh wave of  _where am I?_  hit him too harshly as it’s piled atop of this new problem. He had tried so hard to not lose the ability to feel when he was fighting, and he thought that he was successful, but now he’s back into the mortal world and he can’t feel what’s beneath him. Things are silent, the ground is dull, and even the colors of the world are muted.

Well… he can still… still feel the magic, he can still feel the warmth. That must mean something. He can’t just pile onto this– not now, not when he’s this lost. He can’t panic, he can’t feel this intense disappointment and feeling of  _lost_ , not now, not when he doesn’t know what’s happening in the world and where he is. He doesn’t know if the Hunger is here, he doesn’t know where the Queen is, and he’s too exhausted to exert any magic to figure it out.

He got out, he escaped the Hunger, but did he win?

Kravitz takes a breath, mostly to try to convince his mind to slow down. He isn’t his top priority, and he never has been, and now isn’t the time to focus on himself. The Queen’s connection to him is still there, even if he doesn’t feel it too well, so that’s something he can list as good. She isn’t dead, so he must not be dead, either. These are good things.

He takes another breath and, once decided that he is at least keeping his emotions under wraps, looks up to finally survey his location and time.

Kravitz doesn’t look too far before he sees Taako.

All time comes to a screeching halt and he’s vaguely aware of himself standing up in shock. When he looks at Taako he then recognizes that no, he didn’t lose all feeling, because at that moment he’s filled with pure love and wonder and  _relief_.

Some of it is derived from what the song told him, when he was fighting off the Hunger in the astral plane. About the journey that Taako went through, and the heroism that Taako had to face, and the complete  _fantasy_  of it all. Some of his feeling is because he’s just in pure awe of Taako and what he had done.

But most of it is because he finally recognizes what gave him that burst of strength, that final tug that lead his soul to escape the room. It was Taako.

Taako, who is now standing just yards away from him, his body shaking and radiating pure power.

Kravitz doesn’t say anything, not for a few moments. He had fought for so long, barely making it out and keeping hope just to see Taako’s face again, and he had  _succeeded_. He had–wait, no, not  _him_. He didn’t succeed. He wouldn’t have made it out alive if not for the magic that pulled him. Taako had done it– it had all been Taako.

Kravitz’s heart simply  _flourishes_  with love.

“How…” He can’t find the right words– they don’t exist, not for him. He can only feel his face hesitantly smile. If Kravitz ever wondered about whether or not his heart existed, it’s no question now. He can’t even hear over it. “How did you  _do_  that?”

Taako doesn’t respond. He just starts running.

Kravitz isn’t sure what Taako’s doing until he’s only a few feet away from him. He was momentarily stunned, as there were  _tears_  in Taako’s eyes. He was worried– Kravitz can feel the aura radiate off of him. He was worried and he was scared, and Kravitz was too. But now that’s  _done_. They made it, and the relief is so powerful in Kravitz’s soul he almost feels like laughing.

He waits, and he doesn’t have to wait for long, for Taako to kiss him, but before he does something strikes Kravitz. It’s so menial and downright  _silly_  to have now be the time that he remembers. But he has to do this for Taako.

Kravitz hadn’t lost all feeling when he was fighting the Hunger, he knows that much now. Which is a good thing– but he still lost  _some_  feelings. And… and if he’s going to kiss Taako, if he’s going to hold Taako, then he’s going to be strong for him. He’s going to be the one Taako loves, and he’s going to be the one Taako depends on, and he’s  _going to be warm_.

“Hold on–” He’s a little late to say something and Taako throws himself into his arms. Just the weight of Taako, the presence of  _something_  in Kravitz’s arms is nearly enough to drive him insane. Taako’s got his arms around Kravitz’s neck, and his legs are wrapped around his waist, and his face is so warm and inviting and he’s  _crying_  and smiling and– and Kravitz  _has_  to be better than this– “I– I wanna– I wanna warm up my face, I don’t want it to be cold and weird–”

His hands are cupped around his mouth for only two seconds before Taako’s hands are prying them away, shaking but firm. That’s the only incentive he needs to start kissing him.

It’s…  _so_  nice.

Their lips connect and after a moment Taako smiles and Kravitz can taste his tears. He’s shaking and his hands are wrapped up in Kravitz’s hair, almost as if he has to making sure Kravitz is really there.

It was as if they hadn’t last seen each other on bad terms, or as if Kravitz hadn’t left Taako screaming and calling after him. Kravitz can only revel in the pure elated joy and relief of having Taako there. His soul was aching and stretched, but now some part of it was also  _loud_.

He doesn’t notice, but there isn’t silence around him. His soul is singing. It’s faint and it doesn’t quite blend in with the world– it’s too slow and quiet naturally– but it’s  _singing_.

And Taako pulls away and laughs and wipes his eyes with the palm of his hand. Kravitz’s soul quiets but he just can’t stop staring at Taako with complete wonder and love. He can’t say anything, can’t find any words, but Taako speaks first anyway.

“Okay, forget about how I, uh, short story short, uh, long story short it was— I was rad, natch.” He’s babbling at this point, saying words that Kravitz really doesn’t understand at all. Taako also isn’t catching his eye, and Kravitz tries not to fixate on this but instead allow love to overtake him. “How do you still look this good? You’ve been locked in like mud or tar or something in the Astral Plane, you look fantastic!”

Kravitz hasn’t thought about this– he hasn’t even given it a millisecond of consideration– before now, and it seems like an oddly  _material_  thing to bring up at the moment, but he supposes he does seem… physically okay. He spares a second to look at himself and Taako’s right. His hair is still in neat locks, his jewelry is straight and pristine, and any cuts or scars he may have gotten in his battle with the Hunger simply aren’t there. There’s no blood caked onto his hands and his shirt is whole and clean. He doesn’t understand but like hell if he cares.

“It’s a lot of work to look this good.” Kravitz says with a smile, but for some reason Taako doesn’t laugh or even grin. It strikes Kravitz then that something might be wrong, and at the wrong moment he remembers when he left Taako. The yelling and the begging for Kravitz to  _stay_. Guilt washes over him, hot and thick.

“I– Taako, I was trying to get a message to you.” He softly sets Taako down, but for some reason Taako doesn’t let go of his arms– he must not be that angry, but  _still_. “I thought– I thought you were gone, I thought  _everything_  was gone.”

Panic starts to seep into his being, slowly as it trickles into his soul. Taako doesn’t– he  _couldn’t_  think that Kravitz didn’t care, or wasn’t trying. Kravitz just… he won’t allow it, and his brain won’t allow him to even  _begin_  to understand what that would mean. He didn’t think that Taako would– surely there was no way–?

“Well, no,” Taako says slowly, and he’s deliberately staring at Kravitz’s chest, “But you’re not far off. Uh, it’s… you’re right, there has been a terrible loss that you should know about.”

Kravitz watches Taako shiver in his arms and he can feel the pulse of magic that radiates off of him, strong and persistent, but… nothing happens.

And Taako goes on to explain  _something_ , something about how this is how he looks now, and he’s sorry if it changes anything, and if Kravitz really wants to he can say something and Taako will pull back up his illusionment charm.

But… nothing has changed.

Taako still looks the same, at least physically. His soul, light in Kravitz’s eyes, is still vibrant– it may have lost a bit of it’s shimmer, but Kravitz has a feeling he can only notice because he knows Taako’s soul so well. He’s observed it so many times, during so many sleepless nights that he’s laid next to Taako just to breathe for a moment. It’s a little battered right now, but still just as beautiful as it’s ever been.

And Taako still looks the same. He’s still beautiful, he’s still got amazingly soft lips, brilliant and vibrant eyes, and his signature silk-like hair, and his faint, adorable freckles, and… and he’s all there. Nothing has changed.

Despite this, Taako looks completely destroyed, emotionally. His face has something like sadness and disgust written all over it for a change that never happened. He’s entirely convinced that he looks different– that maybe he’s “uglier” (as if that’s even a possibility for Taako), or less pretty, or  _something_.

Kravitz doesn’t understand this dysphoria but it simply crushes him to see the self-loathing on Taako’s face.

Something has changed.

 

Kravitz lets Taako go and stays behind to deal with the Judge. Time moves slowly.

When he has to release the souls from the astral plane to fight, his magic feels odd. It’s not particularly painful, but it’s not pleasant. It’s like he’s trying to move past some sort of blockage, which he can only assume is because of his partially broken tie to the Queen.

Which… is worrisome. But he’ll deal with that later.

The souls are excited and  _angry_ , as all souls are, and when he lets them go they immediately fixate on the Judge. They swarm his stony face, gnawing and spitting magic they don’t know how to contain. The Judge can barely fight back, and though Kravitz feels his counter-magic spells they do nothing to help.

Kravitz himself sits back and allows them to fight for the time being. He folds his legs underneath himself, feeling his soul  _shake_  as he sits on the grass. Kravitz isn’t hurt, not really, but he’s  _spent_. Depleted.

Without the Queen’s bond to hold him to life, he’s quite literally dead. Were the bond to completely snap, he assumes, his physical body would immediately wither and fall apart. Luckily that isn’t happening, as the bond is only partly broken. But he is running at less than whole, and some of his life-like energy is gone. He’s trying to push a dead being and it’s not optimal. He could ignore it when he was fighting the Hunger, but now that he’s had a moment to breathe and talk to Taako it’s all rushing towards him in waves of fatigue.

He has a feeling it’s like stretching a wire thin– their bond can only handle so much stress before it breaks.

So he quite literally sits and waits for the souls to do their job. He’s got confidence in them; if he felt like he had to step in, he would. But they hold their own, and it isn’t too long before the Judge falls.

It crumbles under the angry and aggressive souls and Kravitz sighs before bracing himself and standing with a grunt. When he calls his scythe to his hand he feels his soul pulse painfully before it slowly materializes.

It’s time to collect.

By some miracle, he gets back to the Bureau at the end of the fight.

As he moved past the fallen Judge and made his way to the Bureau, the souls that he had to recollect rattled and screamed in the astral plane. He could  _hear_  them from the mortal plane, that’s how loud they were. They had tasted freedom and bloodlust and they wanted more. They used their magic against him, pounding and scratching at whatever they could reach of his soul.

Kravitz grit his teeth and moved on.

Souls passed him in the air of the mortal plane, as they do even now, hours later. They’re invisible to mortals, Kravitz can tell, but to him they are nothing less than a swarm of flies in the air. They move past him with joyful and confused songs, directionless and purposeless. The essence of himself urges him to go after them, pluck out every little soul until the sky is clear again. He ignores this, too.

He’s just… tired.

He knows he’s not in a good way and he knows he should be worried about it. He is, vaguely, but not as much as he should be. He knows he needs to go to the astral plane again, he knows he needs to try to find the Queen, he knows he needs to collect the souls lost in this battle, but he can’t bring himself to do any of it. The feeling of urgency is dulled to near nonexistence.

He ends up floating to the rumbles of the auditorium of the Bureau, where everyone is huddled and cleaning wounds and shakily exchanging words of love and encouragement. When he nears the entrance and sets himself on the ground he stumbles for a few steps before moving through the broken doors. Walking feels like moving through the Hunger again– the air is thick around his legs. No one looks up as he enters, and he realizes it’s because he’s somehow become semi-transparent. Though even when he uses his magic to make himself solid no one notices him.

The place looks almost like a hospital. There’s people he doesn’t know and there’s people he’s vaguely met through Taako, all talking to each other like they’re family. There’s two Dryads talking to a muscular woman with a tuxedo. There’s a bird that’s chirping to a very old woman, who’s listening to it with interest. There’s someone who looks like a scientist laughing with a wizard who is just wearing a robe with “Juicy” inscribed on it. Everyone’s sharing stories while huddled under torn blankets. There’s some people who see solitary soldiers, wrapping wounds on the floor, and move towards them, including them in their warm group. No one’s alone; they’re all here, they’re all heroes, and all of their souls shine brightly in victory.

Kravitz catches sight of Taako’s wizard hat and moves himself towards it and no one stops him.

There’s a group around Taako, all whispering quietly to each other. They’re all sat on what looks like rubble from the ceiling– maybe it was once a vent, or a beam to hold the ceiling up– and it honestly looks like it could be a makeshift campsite, if the setting wasn’t so grim. Magnus is smiling tiredly and paying attention to Carey and Killian (both of whom Kravitz had met briefly before), who are cuddled next to each other and recounting the battle (with large exaggerations, Kravitz is sure). A man from the song, Davenport, is leaning on Magnus and listening contently on their conversation. There’s a fellow, Avi, who’s sat next to Magnus and is passing a drink to Merle, who is somehow just  _smiling_ , despite everything. Despite realizing he’s lost a century of time, despite realizing half of his life was fabricated, he’s just… smiling.

Taako isn’t smiling. He’s sitting next to Lup.

They’re in their own world, and Kravitz sees this immediately. There’s a man sitting next to Lup– Barry Bluejeans, or so the song said– and he’s smiling and holding her hand, but she seems to not even notice him in the moment. Her spectral hand is trying to grip his tightly, Kravitz can see, but her eyes are trained on Taako.

Taako’s nearly sitting in her lap, that’s how close they are. Lup’s empty hand is carding through Taako’s hair. Taako’s got both of his hands wrapped up in his her cloak, just absently turning over the fabric and rubbing it between his fingers. Her form is nearly solid and nearly a body, but not quite; her body is black and looks almost charred and her eyes are nothing but flames. Taako doesn’t care.

They’re just absorbed in each other, enclosed in this small, metaphorical shield they make as they press their foreheads together. They are their own world together, whole and secluded from everyone. Taako whispers something and Lup looks up and flashes a sad smile before whispering back.

Kravitz isn’t surprised, and he’s happy for Taako, he really is. The story that Fisher sang explained how close Taako is to his sister, and… and he’s happy for them, he really, truly is.

And he knows Taako isn’t ignoring him. He knows Taako isn’t angry or upset with him.  He knows, but… but he’s still standing away from them, just by a few feet.

There’s no room to sit next to Taako or even Barry. There’s… there’s just no room.

Kravitz stands there and watches them– he watches Taako and Lup, and he watches Barry laugh at something Magnus says, and he watches Avi smile tiredly and take a drink, and he  _watches_.

He’s a spectre and he’s watching all of these mortals around him. And he’s just so  _tired_.

Kravitz is…  he’s welcome, he knows. He knows Magnus likes him, he knows Merle is friendly, he knows  _all_  of them are friendly and would treat him like family. And he knows that maybe if he just put his hand on Taako’s shoulder, Taako would turn and smile at him fleetingly before turning back to Lup.

He knows this.

But looking up and seeing the people around him, seeing the souls of everybody, so bright and vivid, he’s lonely.

He doesn’t belong here, with these mortals. He shouldn’t be reveling in these feelings of relief and love and warmth.

He’s a reaper. He’s got a job to do.

(He’s tired and he just wants to sit, he just wants to be with Taako, rest his head on his shoulder, feel his warmth, close his eyes, fall asleep knowing everything will be okay in the morning.)

He’s not allowed to rest. He’s dead.

(Angus runs up to him from seemingly nowhere and he hugs Kravitz tightly before saying how glad he is to see him. Taako hears this and somehow turns from his embrace with Lup and smiles faintly at Kravitz before pausing. His smile falters and he’s asking if Kravitz is okay, he’s saying that Kravitz doesn’t look so hot. Lup lets go of Barry’s hand and slowly starts to rise. Conversation around the makeshift camp fades as everyone looks at him. Kravitz just sways on his feet, unsteady. His soul is slowing down.)

He’s dying. His soul and his bond is stretching so thin.

Kravitz blinks and there’s a snap and he’s gone, his body falling to the floor.    


	9. Chapter 9

Taako didn’t scream.

Lup had gotten up and floated over to Kravitz’s body. She was kneeling over him, she didn’t even  _know_  him, and she was trying to wake him up. Magnus got up next and was by Lup’s side, trying to shake Kravitz awake, as if that would work. Barry was next, and he whispered something to Lup before they both put their hands on his chest and both of them started to glow. Angus was just standing there, shocked. He was starting to cry.

Lup started saying some sort of spell and people around them started looking their way. Magnus got up nearly instantly, turning to the crowd and immediately directing their attention away, saying that someone just passed out and they should get back to the other wounded people. Eventually they listened– what was another passed out man to them, anyway?

Merle left to get someone. Avi followed him. Davenport stood and pulled Angus away.

This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Not to him, not to  _Kravitz_.

Carey and Killian were at Taako’s side then, tugging at his sleeves and trying to turn him away. Lup’s spell ended and she snapped something at Barry. She glanced Taako’s way before turning back to Kravitz’s body and aggressively starting a new spell. Barry followed her lead.

Taako didn’t scream. He didn’t even watch.

Carey was kneeling in front of him and she grabbed his chin with her claws, forcing him to look at her.

He wasn’t looking at Kravitz, he was looking at her.

Blood pounded in his ears and he was nauseous, even though his stomach was growing a black, endless pit.

He should have been helping Lup. He should have been to Barry’s left, kneeling on the floor, he should have been helping with the spell, whatever it was. He should have been by Kravitz’s side, at least. But he wasn’t doing  _anything_.

Carey got him to say something, but he didn’t know what it was he said.

He had lost someone  _again_.

He couldn’t do anything.

 

Lucretia tried for nearly two days to figure out what was wrong.

Her conclusion was that he was just… gone.

Dead.

 

Taako had a feeling Lucretia only tried for so long because she was trying to make things up to him. Things had to be done around the Bureau, and she pushed nearly all of it off. It was most certainly because of guilt.

Maybe, under different circumstances, he would have appreciated the sentiment in a fleeting comment, quickly said so he could get back to hating her with as much acid as he could muster.

But the circumstance was that Kravitz  _was_   _not_   _waking_   _up_.

She didn’t say that he was dead, not outright. But he knew.

“Taako… I’m very sorry, but…” And she looked at him with that sorrowful, regretful and soft gaze that he  _remembered_  from so many cycles with her. After so many planets of ” _This world couldn’t be saved. Nobody lived this time. I’m sorry_.”

“Oh.” He said, and Lup squeezed his hand– or at least she tried to. He could feel her energy elevate just a little where her hand should be. She hadn’t left his side since his memories had come back; they were always at least in eyesight of each other. Sometimes Taako would look around and forget that she was behind him and panic. Separating the two of them into different rooms was not even considered, not yet. Having Kravitz be… in the state that he was… didn’t help.

“Well… okay.” Those were the first words he had consciously spoken since Kravitz fell.

Lucretia was watching him. Lup was watching him. Everybody was watching him. They were waiting for his reaction.

A weight was building on his chest, and though he had been looking at the serene, beautiful face of Kravitz for the past two days, he suddenly couldn’t anymore.

“Well, okay!” He said, this time louder and with a clap of his hands that made Lucretia jump. “Let’s clean this up and get out of this uber  _dump_.”

Taako forced a smile and turned on the balls of his feet, waving his hand as he left. “Can you be a dear and do something  _good_  for once in your life, Lucretia, and move his body to Magnus’ dorm? Thanksyou’readear!”

He swept himself out of the room before Lup or Lucretia could try to follow him.

He’d never been great with dealing through his tragedies, and he knew he was being typical in his reaction. Fuck, he  _still_  had trouble eating, even after all of these years. He avoided food when he could or picked at what he needed and then  _left_  the scene. Taako always ran and stayed out of the way of things that made him think too much, and this time was no different.

He didn’t want to think about Kravitz.

He didn’t want to think about his body, laying completely lifeless and cold as a knife.

So he didn’t.

He didn’t think about it, he didn’t panic about it, and he didn’t cry about it.

Taako was  _Taako_ , and he wasn’t going to think about Kravitz because that was upsetting and… and he just couldn’t, not right then.

He had gotten his precious hours with Lup after the battle two days ago, where he was able to relax and know that everybody was okay and his world was  _in one piece_. Of course it was a broken, misfigured piece, rusted over and discolored, but it was all there. Taako could rebuild from that, he knew he could.

He would eventually get over his fear of having Lup out of his sight, he knew (even as he walked away now, his legs had started to feel unsteady). Maybe he’d even get help– because he had a feeling Lup would hound him into it– with his “eating and anxiety problems” (as The Director would call them).

Taako lived, for just a few hours, believing that he would return from whatever shit show he had been running. It would be tough, and he didn’t necessarily  _want_  to get help at the present time, but he had a feeling it would eventually happen. Things just… had happy endings. Things worked out. He knew this.

But he couldn’t get over  _this_. Him. Kravitz. Laying there.

There was no solution to this problem. Kravitz wouldn’t come back and coach him through this. He wouldn’t hold his hand, or stand by him as Lup was doing.

Kravitz wasn’t coming back.

And… and that was it.

No happy ending.

Kravitz was dead.

Taako made it to the rubbles of his dorm room before breaking down.

 

Lup found him in his room that night.

Once Taako had left them, completely out of the blue, Lup and Lucretia stared at the door for a long while. They both knew what he had done and what he was doing, and Lup’s fear and anxiety spiked to immeasurable amounts after he had closed the door, but they couldn’t go after him. Lucretia tried her hardest, bless her, to talk some sense into Lup– they “both knew that Taako needed to have his alone time” and once he was a bit more sensible then he could be efficiently comforted.

And maybe that was true while Lup was gone. Maybe that’s how Taako dealt with things on his own, during that decade of loneliness.

But things were different now– Lup was  _back_ , and if Taako was out there, crying and upset, then  _she needed to be with him_.

Lucretia just didn’t understand and Lup wanted to correct her– no, not  _her_  brother, that’s not how he worked, she must have forgotten– but the fact was that no matter what, Lup couldn’t follow him. Kravtiz’s body was still on the table.

Lup hadn’t formed an opinion on Kravitz, not really. He seemed to really care for Taako and he was very pretty, which were the only impressions that she got, but she hadn’t yet drilled Kravitz on exactly  _how_  and in how many ways was he treating Taako like the Prince that he is and deserves to feel like. Though for Taako to be this upset… he must have really been nice.

When Lucretia and herself laid Kravitz down on Magnus’s bed, he looked like he was just asleep.

Lup wasn’t sure if he was dead, in all honesty. His soul was pretty much gone, which Lucretia and Lup could detect, leaving behind tiny bits of dust behind, but could reapers die? She didn’t know.

Lucretia said that they shouldn’t keep hope. She couldn’t sense any traces of his soul or divine magic. She said it wasn’t likely that people came back from the dead once, much less twice.

Lup wasn’t so sure about that, but she didn’t want to argue about it.

Whatever the case was or whoever was right in the situation, Lup had to move his body with Lucretia. Taako wanted her to.

As soon as she was done with that, she blinked her way into Taako’s room.   

Taako never cried for a particularly long time, even when they were kids. He got out what he needed to, which generally took about fifteen minutes, and then sunk in his own pile of despair. Lup knew his pattern like the back of her hand. In three days time he would be stress baking.

But this time she found him an hour later, in his room, and he was still crying.

There was nothing to say to really comfort him, but that was never a problem between them. She sat down next to where he was curled underneath his covers and waited for him to lift them up to invite her in.

He didn’t.

 

Lup stayed the night in Taako’s bed, in Taako’s room, in Taako’s life.

He wished,  _fuck_  he wished, that he could have appreciated this. He had missed this without even knowing it; he had missed Lup pressed next to him, he had missed her warmth and her snores, and he had missed their own little positions and the patterns they slept in.

Taako didn’t even know she was in his bed until he had blinked and his room was dark, save for the soft red glow from the figure in front of him.

 

“I know you’re upset, but please, Taako, it’s been  _days_.”

Well that didn’t fucking matter, did it? Kravitz was gone. Dead.

“Yeah, aren’t ya hungry? Lup made her special avocado-toasted crap!”

Who cared? Kravitz was there for him and he loved him and he  _wasn’t going to leave him_. And now he’s fucking dead. Somehow this is all Taako’s fault. He ruined it.

“And just for you, ya dingus. Listen, I know it’s hard but I’m not going to sit here and watch this shit. I’m not losing you over  _this_.”

That… seemed to do something.

Taako pushed around his piece of toast for a few more seconds before quickly, in one fluid move, picking it up and taking a bite off the end. He chewed and set the thing down and tried to ignore the nausea in his stomach and the bile threatening to rise. His stomach growled, wanting more, and he hated it.

“Alright, are you fucks happy?” He snapped and immediately felt guilty. Magnus and Merle and Lup weren’t trying to start anything. They were only trying to look out for him, and he was making things  _worse_. Fuck, they just wanted him to  _eat toast_. One piece of bread in two days, and he couldn’t even do that? Not for his fucking friends, his  _family_ , that just wanted to see him be okay?

“I’m sorry,” Taako mumbled, pushing away his plate and distinctly avoiding eye contact. From where Magnus and Merle stood by his door, Taako heard a sigh. “I… Can I just be alone?”

There was a pause before Magnus was the first one to turn and open the door. Taako was so incredibly grateful Magnus wasn’t saying what was on his mind. Merle followed him out shortly after, but when Lup made to stand from his bed, Taako reached out and grabbed a hold of her cloak.

 

Angus had been nearly inconsolable and Taako was honestly glad to have somewhere to direct his emotions to.

Angus tried his hardest, and that was admirable, but his hardest wasn’t good enough for Taako. Everytime he tried to say something he would make it halfway through the sentence before trailing off and getting that beady look in his eyes. Shortly after that he’d apologize, wipe his eyes with his sleeve, then try again. It was adorable and miserable to watch, and Taako hated to look at it, but it gave him a reason to shout.

It was day four and he had become irritable.

Being sad was far too much for Taako so he resorted to being  _angry_.

Fuck the world. Fuck Lucretia. Fuck Kravitz.

 _Especially_  fuck Kravitz.

Fuck Kravitz for leaving him alone, fuck Kravitz for playing dead, fuck Kravitz for laying down, for fainting, for leaving Taako alone, Taako was  _lonely_ , Kravitz was gone and dead and Lup was back but she wasn’t and Taako was not okay and Taako needed out and he needed to scream and he needed to cry and–

Deep breath. He’s not sad. He’s angry.

He hadn’t been to Magnus’s room yet. He knew that Kravitz was on Magnus’s bed and Magnus was currently sleeping on the couch in his dorm, just across the hall from Taako’s. Why would Taako need to see that sight in person?

Taako was furious with Angus and the world most of the time, but the one person that he reserved all anger for (besides Lup and occasionally Barry, when he sat in sometimes) was Magnus.

If he was in Magnus’s position, he couldn’t be able sleep knowing that Kravitz was laying on his bed. But Magnus just reassured him, time and time again, that it was okay. He would say that Kravitz would want to be somewhere comfortable when he woke up, and then he’d flash a hesitant smile that Taako wouldn’t reciprocate. He appreciated it, though. It took a lot of strength for Magnus to be that kind, considering he didn’t even know Kravitz that well.

He didn’t know Kravitz slept with three blankets and complained otherwise (which was a joke that made Taako groan and roll his eyes). He didn’t know Kravitz liked eating gross food combinations just to freak Taako out. He didn’t know Kravitz’s favorite color was red, he didn’t know Kravitz could play the violin, that he could dance extremely well (he just didn’t like to), he was a beautiful singer (but only sang under his breath), he hummed sometimes, he liked gardening, he wanted a cat, he was always content and he always looked at Taako with that smile and loved him and Kravitz  _loved him_  and wasn’t leaving and Taako was alone now and–

And Magnus was very kind. It was day five of laying in his bed with Lup at his side, staring blankly at the wall to the left of him, and that was what Taako thought.

 

Bright lights lit up the saloon in the darkness of the night.

The place was in full swing, literally. The dance floor, which was the only patch of polished wood in the whole building, was alive with people. Women in impressive dresses that billowed from their bodies matched with men in expensive vests with even pricier shirts.  Their clothes were tarnished with sweat and stains from wine and food, but the people didn’t care. They were rich and joyful enough to not mind wasting such treasures.

The barmaid, Maria, was on her feet with the quickness of a deer, prancing to and from those that called for her. She was quite unlike the other barmaids, and so the people took an usual liking for her. Maria was a warrior– or she used to be, rather. She fought overseas and came back with a prosthetic leg. She told anyone that listened that her leg didn’t stop her from fighting, and she came back on her own accord unrelated. Those that knew her nature believed her without a doubt. Those that didn’t know her too well quickly accepted her words upon seeing the seven knives she hid in her leg.

Maria was petite in build but she was  _loud_ , which was another reason why people seemed to prefer her. Maria was not afraid to speak out and shout at unruly men and women. She was sweet and charming, but swore like a sailor. She was just above five feet tall, but could drink anyone under the table on any night.

Kravitz liked her a lot.

He got along with her very well– he admired her outspokenness, but he also found her absolutely fascinating. He would slip her an extra few coins for just a few minutes of her time, and all he wanted was to hear her stories.

That was what he was doing– listening to her speak, seated in a booth– when he woke up.

“C’mon, Krav, you too drunk or somethin’ to pay attention?” Maria shoved her arm into his before sliding out of the booth seat, twirling the gold coins he had given her. “Whatever, your fuckin’ loss– free coin for me!”

Kravitz stared up at her at a complete loss.

Was… wasn’t he just…  _what_?

He was falling– his bond with the Queen had snapped– and he– someone was there, and– and–

And now he’s here.

He couldn’t really remember what had happened. That was odd.

Kravitz looked around, taking in a sight he hadn’t seen in centuries.

He was in the old saloon in his hometown– his favorite saloon, that was now leveled and gone. Everything was the same; the chairs, the booth,  _Maria_ , and even the  _lighting_ , and it was all here.

Was he… dead?

“Krav? You ‘right in there?” Maria asked, now looking at him with a wavering smile. “I didn’ slip ya anything, I promise.”

Kravitz looked up at her in barely-contained confusion, and for some reason his tongue acted on his own accord. “No, just… had a long day.”

He had said those words to her so many years ago. He had seen the smile that she responded with, the way she shrugged and turned away on her heels, he’d heard her boots tap away on the wooden floor as she went back to her bar.

He had collected her soul. Maria was dead. Or… she was supposed to be.

Kravitz stood and nearly sat back down immediately. His head  _hurt_  from standing up, and he lifted his hand to touch his forehead and feel for blood instinctively.

There was no blood. He was just drunk.

In the middle of his dumbfounded shock he actually smiled. He was  _drunk_. Kravitz hadn’t been able to get drunk in years, and his head hadn’t hurt because of anything mortal in centuries.

Did that mean that he was mortal now? Was he in a memory, or… or had he just been drunk?

In something of a trance, Kravitz slid out of his usual booth seat and started walking, out of pure instinct, to the exit. He needed to figure out what was happening– what had happened to him, and… and there was something else he wanted to know, something about  _someone_ , but the name couldn’t come to him.

He tried to conduct magic; just something simple. A small spell to see if he could feel the magic around him– because  _surely_  this had to be some illusionment charm, and whatever had happened to him to cause him to potentially die was casting it.

Yet he couldn’t feel anything wrong.

There was no buzz in the air of magic, no presence of an incantation or charm work. To his senses, the saloon was simply the saloon, as it always had been. Even though he  _knew_  it had been demolished and was no longer standing.

Kravitz paused in the middle of the room, a thought occurring to him.

He wasn’t alarmed, which was very alarming in itself. He was just… curious.

Kravitz walked to the bathroom of the saloon and didn’t notice much along the way. Maybe it was because he had seen the scene so many times before, or maybe it was because he just didn’t care to notice it, but as he moved he could no longer hear the music that was being played. Details of the saloon around him faded away. Maria’s banter died down until she was silent, standing upright and tight like a doll. The people on the dancefloor slowed until they were like stones. The dresses flared into the air and didn’t come back down, the necklaces of the men floated above their chests and stayed there. Everyone’s faces fell straight to a neutral place, unsmiling and empty.

Kravitz kept walking.

Once Kravitz was inside the bathroom, he turned to the mirror and, for some reason or another that he didn’t care to think about, he wasn’t surprised by what he saw.

The biggest change was the absence of jewelery. His hair, usually braided with golden bands and charms, was clean from all additions. There were no golden earrings in his ears, and upon touching his hair he noticed that he didn’t have any rings on his hands, either.

He wasn’t wearing his suit, too. He wasn’t even wearing his white dress shirt or his expensive vest. Kravitz was wearing a shockingly purple silken shirt and a white blazer.

He didn’t have golden eyeliner on. His eyes, normally black and red at the center, were a dark, dense brown color.

When he moved his arm to touch his face, he could feel the warmth from his fingers on his cheek. He was breathing and completely unaware of it. If Kravitz was quiet enough, he could even hear his heart beating in his chest.

While it was certainly all interesting, he couldn’t make any sense of it. Why did he care? Why was he even checking himself anyway?

Kravitz turned back around and exited the bathroom, not pausing to look at the vibrant, exuberant dancers, now moving again. Someone nearly bumped into him and he apologized to her and moved on. Maria called to him from the bar. The saloon was alive.

Since waking up and going to the bathroom, he had forgotten what it was he wanted to do. Kravitz knew he certainly had to do something, and he definitely  _needed_  to do it, but… it skipped his mind.

Well, that happened sometimes when he got drunk. He’d forget things.

His feet were carrying him to the exit but he stopped a few paces away from the door, suddenly perplexed.

Kravitz looked around at the dancing saloon, the bright lights, and the playing band, and something seemed to occur to him. He smiled and scoffed at himself and turned on his feet, heading back and deeper to the dancing crowd.

Why was he leaving now? The night was just beginning!


	10. Chapter 10

Kravitz hadn’t danced for that long since two months ago, when he and his friends went out for his twenty-sixth birthday– and he had no plans of stopping soon. **  
**

The energy in the saloon that night was endless and unrestricted. He swung himself from partner to partner, tapping his shoes to a simple beat and twirling ladies to fast rhythms. Kravitz was awake, alive, sweating, and _happy_. He was smiling and barking laughs and for some reason he knew he hadn’t been that happy in a while. Kravitz would go out to town nearly every night– he had been, for the past sixteen years– but this was one of the better nights, hands-down. He felt  _young_ , which was ridiculous because  _of course he did_ , he was twenty-six!

The current song was some sort of jig that Kravitz had never heard before– perhaps he’d ask his mother later if she knew it– that involved hooking elbows with a partner and twirling about each other. It was fast-paced and lithe, which was always a crowd favorite.

Kravitz was well into the dance before it was time to switch partners. With a breathless smile and a quick bow, he bade a good night to the woman he was dancing with and hooked himself onto the nearest offered elbow.

“A lovely evening to you my good lady!” He greeted warmly, marching beside her in the first steps of the dance.

She said nothing to him, which was rude by customs. However, he was in good spirits that night and wasn’t going to start anything. Some people were shy, or newcomers, and he’d be sure to make her feel welcome. So he attributed her silence to nerves before they turned and faced each other for the first time.

He stared at her face and his next words died on his lips.

The dance floor around them slowed its movement until everyone was once more a statue, waiting to be interacted with, as the partners looked at each other for the first time.

Kravitz didn’t notice this sudden silence. He was staring into the eyes of the Raven Queen’s mask.

Things and memories flooded his mind and he could only stand there, watching her figure turn to one he knew by heart. A raven’s skull sadly blinked up at him.

What… what was he doing here?

Kravitz let go of her in a numb state.

He was… he had been falling.

Kravitz looked around at the dancing people and the saloon that he  _knew_  was demolished and dead. None of this was  _real_.

He had died.

 _He_  wasn’t real– this illusion of feeling, of  _sweating_ , of feeling young and warm and this false happiness was all fabricated. It was fake and it was  _wrong_. He felt disgusted with himself.

Kravitz was here, and  _everything else in his life_  was not.

He had died. He didn’t belong here.

” _Krav, babe, are you okay? You don’t look so hot_.”

“Kravitz,” The Raven Queen whispered, and with a feathered hand she reached up and brushed away a lock of Kravitz’s hair from his shoulder. “I’m very sorry about this, but we need to talk.”

 

Magnus didn’t think Kravitz was going to wake up. But Lucretia wanted to humor Taako, and everyone else’s rooms were taken up by multiple people who chose to stay behind and help out. Magnus also supposed it was something to do with trust– so he didn’t mind too much. He was out of his bedroom most of the day, anyway.

Of course he was upset that Kravitz had passed away– out of all the people to die on that day, he was not expecting the  _one immortal person_  to. That’s how war was, Magnus supposed– unfair and unpredictable. He hadn’t known Kravitz that well, but he knew he was a good person. He was honest and fair and… well, he spared Magnus’s life, what more was there to say?

He was mostly just sad for Taako. Of course Magnus had his own struggles to deal with, of course things were different for him and all of them, but Taako had lost  _so much_. Lup wasn’t back, not entirely, ten years of a horrible life could have been avoided, Wonderland had taken a toll of him, and now Kravitz?   

Magnus had it nearly easy in comparison. He supposed he could have avoided the war in Raven’s Roost and… and losing Julia.

But it was going to happen anyway. The war would have happened regardless of whether or not he had been there. And in the end Magnus had been there to help, and he had really wonderful memories because of it, if he ignored the bad memories. Raven’s Roost was gone, and so was Julia, but at least he had known them. Cry because it happened, not because it’s over– or something like that.

So… he had things pretty okay, if he looked at it in that way.

Magnus spent most of his time helping out Lucretia with rebuilding in order to distract himself from the fact that he had no one to talk to and things were pretty much not okay.

She was stressed enough with everything, so Magnus told her that he’d take care of ordering all of the materials they’d need.

Lucretia cried when he said this.

Barry was nice enough to her when they talked, but tried to avoid her otherwise. Merle was kind to her, and he understood, but his kids and wife had come to the moon base and he was busy. Lup was with Taako constantly, and neither of them were present for anything. Davenport pitied her, but he also couldn’t stand talking to her.

She was alone, and she was  _their Lucretia_. She wasn’t the fifty-year-old Director, knowledgeable and wise– that was just a character she played. Lucretia was twenty nine and trying with everything she had. She was the eighteen year old the IPRE met at training; a child genius, shy but kind and clumsy and sometimes sarcastic. She knew how to paint beautiful scenes and smiling faces, not how to run a society. She had a sister that died a along with her home planet.

Lucretia was alone, and though no one hated him, so was Magnus.

So he helped.

She gave him the original blueprints to the Bureau, along with the list of materials they had used when building. His job was mostly to stay in his room (or wherever he pleased)  and write out orders and plans.

He had wanted to be in the auditorium helping with the injured, if he was honest, but according to Lucretia there were already more than enough volunteers.

So Magnus mostly just wrote.

It was a little awkward to have Kravitz’s body in his bedroom. Magnus tried not to go in there too often, but facts were that his clothes and most of the things he needed were in there, so he’d have to look at him sometimes.

It was just… odd. No matter how Magnus thought of it.

He’d say that it looked like Kravitz was sleeping, and that kind of is what it looked like, but Kravitz wasn’t supposed to sleep. It would have been odd to see him asleep, but he was  _dead_  and somehow that was weirder.

Magnus just tried not to look at him.

It was even weirder to think to himself that there was a  _dead body_  on his bed. That’s what Kravitz was now– a dead body– but he didn’t do dead body stuff. He didn’t smell decrepit or gross. His body wasn’t decomposing or falling apart, and his face wasn’t paling.

Lucretia said it was because his body wasn’t actually  _his_. From what she gathered, Kravitz created that body out of what he remembered of his living body, or what he had looked like. His current body was tied to his soul– without the soul, it was just a shell. It was closer to a magic item than a human body. In theory, it would never decompose.

So Magnus tried to think of it like that. It wasn’t a dead body, just a magical artifact.

… Still weird.

But Taako wanted Kravitz there, and it wasn’t like Magnus couldn’t sleep on his couch.

And he knew that Kravitz deserved something better than being put with all of the other bodies.

Magnus was curious, vaguely, as to what happened when a reaper died. Where was his soul now? Would a new reaper take his place, and if so where did they come from? How is a reaper even made?

It wasn’t really in his area of expertise to know. But he had time to wonder.

 

“You are dead.

You weren’t supposed to die. When the bonds of the world were cut off, they weren’t severed and impaired, like ours. Think of it as a beam of light being interrupted by a wall. Were the wall to be removed, the light would continue.

Our bond is more like a rope. You are tethered to me in order to live, in whatever sense of the word you want. That’s what makes our bond different– no other bond in this world or plane keeps one of the partners alive. When that wall came down, it cut into the rope. When it lifted, you attempted to strain against it, like you had been up until then.

The rope snapped, and you have died because of it.

This is your afterlife, Kravitz. What you most desired and wanted is projected into this space, and will be for the rest of eternity.

In your case, this projection is different than what you now currently value. The afterlife is for the dead that were once living– I told you, long ago, that you were meddling with mortal affairs that did not belong to you. The memories you have, as a reaper, are not really authentic because of this. You have memories that you’re not supposed to. This afterlife is taking the memories that you had while you were alive,  _before_  you were a reaper, because they are your true memories–  _Kravitz’s_  true memories.

Were you to project what you truly wanted at this moment, the scene would be different. But when you were alive, this is what you wanted. This is what you deserved. This bar and these people and this feeling, Kravitz, is what you wanted eternally for your afterlife.

And so this is what you will experience until time stops… that is, if you chose to stay.”

 

(Lup was worried. It was a week and two days after Kravitz died and Taako barely left his apartment.

Lup was a logical person, and she should have foreseen these changes in the umbrella, but… she had hoped things would be different.

Maybe they’d all be angry at Lucretia, she’d think. But they were all family– once she escaped, things would be normal. She’d have her Taako back and things would eventually be okay.

They’d rebuild.

Barry would be over Lucretia quickly, once he saw that Lup was. Davenport, the kind soul that he was, would forgive her after some time. She knew that Merle and Magnus wouldn’t be angry for too long, either. Taako… she predicted.

Things would be back to normal, she’d think. Huddled, alone and in the dark as she was, she wanted to believe her family would be waiting for her when she returned.

She was trying, now, to patch everything up. She tried, whenever she could, to talk to Lucretia and smile at Davenport and she tried to be with Barry…

But the damage was so much more than she could fix on her own.

So she resigned herself… at least, for the moment.

She could fix her brother. That was a start.)

 

“Normally, and you know this, once a soul has passed on it is locked in its’ afterlife. It cannot jump from one state of being to the previous. But this situation is different, and I have found something of a loophole, admittedly solely because of… Personal reasons.

You were not supposed to die.

It is regrettable to meet you here. Istus and I never had plans for you to die, and so, if you wish, things can be amended.

It will take time. Things will not be the same, at first, as it has been centuries since I have had to build and shape a soul. But things can change. I will do my best to give you what I can and reshape you to what you once were– if you need, I can give you what we’ll call a ‘restoration period’, until you are fit to return to your duties.

That is… if you chose to return.”

 

(It was a week and two days after that day and Taako needed to move on.

Lup said it was okay that Taako took his time. She said that he was allowed to mourn and feel sad, and that it was a perfectly natural reaction.

Taako knew this. He had mourned for her.

But that was different. Back then Lup missing was the only thing that happened and the only thing that mattered to him. Now there was so much going on– so much  _good_  happening that he should be happy about.

He got his memories back. He got his sister back. The Hunger was defeated.

He needed to move on. To stop moping in his apartment and start helping out around the Bureau. Hell, even Lup was probably tired of his nonsense– on day six she left him, if only for a few hours, because she needed to… do something.

Talk to someone. Be somewhere. Or whatever it was she went to do. He had zoned out when she told him.

She promised him so fervently that she didn’t want to leave his side– ” _Taako, listen to me_ ”– and that she  _had_  to talk to whoever it was, and she had to be here or there and…

Taako knew that she wasn’t lying. She wouldn’t lie to him, not about this. But he couldn’t help but feel like he was just dragging everyone down.

He was being ridiculous and stupid. Stupid for being like this, stupid for not being happy, stupid for making Magnus keep Kravitz’s body in his apartment for so long when  _he wasn’t coming back_.

It had been over a week, what did he expect? People didn’t come back from the grave.

He needed to move on.)

 

“I recognize that you wish to return to your relations and your family, but I am obligated to urge you to truly consider this.

If you stay, you will forget your memories as a reaper. It will not be a painful process, and you will not be burdened by it. Once forgotten they are irretrievable, but you will spend eternity here– in what your soul finds to be utter bliss and happiness.

Life in the mortal plane will continue on. Your memories will live on in the minds of mortals, and I will be forced to find another reaper.

And… I believe you know what is at stake if you return.

Please do not let your emotions guide you.

Chose wisely, Kravitz, and I will escort you to where you need to go.”


	11. Chapter 11

Manipulating a soul is not easy.

Souls are not tangible to anyone, god or mortal. They are more akin to thoughts or concepts. They exist, and this is known, but their physicality is not comprehensible. They can be felt like the weather before a storm, but not touched or seen.

There are certain creatures that can perceive souls in an extremely simple form. They describe them as a deep, rich blue color. Small and spherical, they are barely the size of a human eye.

Of course, other creatures say differently. It’s all based on perception.

Most gods say that they can view souls as multicolored– some are golden and others are blue. Unbiased gods claimed that the colors of souls were random; how could they have meaning if they could not be perceived by everyone?

Other gods said it was because of the character of the person. The pure of heart were golden. The malignant were darker.

Most souls, to them, were comfortably orange.

How does one create such a beautiful sight? How can someone craft color?

It is nearly impossible. Only one such creature holds power to mold texture and color to their whim.

To her it is still difficult, but possible. It is tedious– like trying to hold water in cupped hands. Time and time again it will slip through the cracks, using any excuse to dissipate to something once more intangible.

The strongest souls and the ones that have destinies not yet fulfilled will be the most solid and vibrant. They are the ones that flock to the reapers like buzzards, swirling around them in a beautiful display of grandeur. They fight each other to rest in the palms of those that can collect them.

They crave energy and they crave love and they crave feeling like no other being can.

The reapers can carry them but they cannot craft them.

The creature that can is delicate and lithe.

She takes the concept of a soul and sits with it, caressing it and whispering to it until it whispers back. She lets it free– lets it rise above her, lets it glow in front of her eyes and tickle her lashes. The soul cards through her hair, it nibbles her ear, it slides up her arms and slips through her fingers like the wind.

She watches it play and expand in this space. She becomes a spectre, for a little while, as the soul’s energy takes up the space until it /becomes/ the space. She watches it and suddenly they are both one in the same. They both play in each other’s hair, they both run their fingers atop their skin.

When they are ready, they sing.

She is a mirror to the soul. The soul becomes the melody and the soul determines the pace. She is there to echo it and reinforce what she can– she follows the lead of the energy.

Sometimes the song is beautiful. Sometimes it is broken.

Sometimes, on only the most special of souls, it is both.

The broken souls will not sing.

They love her, they crave her touch as all souls do, but they do not sing. They are silent as they expand as much as they can. Most broken souls will not reach the infinity that strong souls can. They were not made to take up the space that is given to them to play, and so they do not. Some don’t even try.

She comes across a few souls, once or twice a century, that never move. They do not expand and they do not sing– they stay concepts, and when she cradles them out of the universe they do not melt through her fingers. They lay flat and delicate like paper against her wrists.

She has to be careful with these souls when she carries them to their next life.

She has to move slowly and hum her own tune, and she has to give them her strength. Without it, they will shatter into dust and they will be irretrievable.

And she has to move on.

She doesn’t try to fix these souls. They are old and they are frail– they have gone through their courses and they have seen what they were destined to see. These souls are ready to rest.

… Normally.

She has a soul in her hands now, and it isn’t moving.

It doesn’t have a color and it’s incredibly old. It isn’t meant to be revived like most of the broken souls are. It is meant to be held with love and carried until it disappears into nothingness. It is meant to spread its energy until it is gone.

She has other plans.

She turns it over in her hands and it sighs out some energy and pulses a color. A faint shimmer that can barely be seen and shouldn’t be relied on comes over it, and she encourages this. It’s a sign that it’s fighting its fate. She cannot, or perhaps will not, revive a soul that does not wish to be revived. It’s cruel torture to live as stretched thin as a broken soul.

She takes this soul and whispers to it quietly in a language that does not exist. She’s trying to coax it to move, but she’s not desperate. She’s not moving quickly. Her fingers brush over it and she can feel some surface of energy, smooth beneath her.

She sits there for a while, just stroking it softly.

One wrong move, a jerk too quick, and she could crush it and it would not resist. It would melt into her– most souls don’t, but she has found this soul to be different time and time again. It is bound to her and tied to her.

She spends an infinity with this soul in her hand, sitting with it cradled in her palm.

It becomes accustomed to this, and when it is ready she carefully takes her hands from beneath it.

The soul floats for a few moments before softly resting back on her fingertips.

This is good.

She does this a few more times until it becomes a game for the soul. With a childlike energy, after a few more times it starts to instructionally bounce on her hands. It doesn’t go high, and it doesn’t suspend itself in the space for too long, but it’s no longer sitting in her hands quietly.

She smiles fondly at the soul bouncing in her hands. She’s always liked this one.

She start to encourage it. Go higher– come on– it’s fine if you can’t.

I love you.

I believe in you.

And, slowly, it starts to go higher. Stay longer.

She sits there, whispering to this soul, giving it her energy, for a while. It’s painfully long and were she to move her hands at all the soul would feel it and shatter. Without her encouragement she would have sat with the soul for an eternity, just watching it bounce quietly.

It takes a long time, but time doesn’t necessarily mean much where they are.

The soul starts to float.

It’s afraid to float, and it’s taking almost all of its energy, but the soul levitates a few inches above her open palms.

She’s overjoyed, and when it sighs and rests on her hands again she praises it and croons to it.

It’s glowing now, just a little bit. It’s muffled, and it’s not nearly as strong as she’s seen it, and it’s still fragile and weak, but now it’s gold.

She closes her eyes and meditates with the soul in her hand until she expands her energy. She becomes everything– the hand holding the soul and the space around it.

The soul is not scared of this. It’s tired from playing and really not yet ready to be released, but it’s eagerly waiting for her. It’s done this before, and it knows what comes next.

She becomes a web of energy, encapsulating everything and nothing at all. The soul gets caught in this web and stays there. It has no energy to struggle, but it doesn’t want to anyway.

She slowly makes her way across this web, crawling over her own being until she reaches the soul caught in her hand. The soul is nearly shivering in excitement as she gingerly picks up threats with her hands from beneath them. With light fingers she drapes threads over the soul like a blanket. She’s burying the soul in her energy– it shines, more brightly now, as she continues her work.

When it is nearly covered she plunges her hands into the threads around it and picks up the soul. When she holds it up it is dripping this energy, raw and loving. She maneuvers it in her hands, gently passing it from hand to hand as it becomes completely covered and nearly solid.

She then takes the strings hanging off the soul and gathers them into both of her hands so that the soul is being suspended by them. She twists the strings until they become one singular, long thread. It wraps around her left hand, connects to and suspends the soul in front of her face, and finishes wrapped around her right hand.

She pulls the strings taut and Kravitz wakes up.


	12. Chapter 12

It’s five in the morning and Magnus is writing orders for plywood at his desk when Kravitz falls off the bed.

Magnus is tough, and he’s got the instinct to grab his weapon at any sign of conflict present, but when Kravitz’s body hits the floor with a loud  _thump_  he just screams like he’s in a haunted house.

There’s no window open. There’s no breeze in the room. And, y’know,  _Kravitz is dead_. There should be no moving.

Yet when Magnus turns around in his chair to look, there’s a distinct  _buzz_  about Kravitz’s body. He’s not actually moving, not really. But there’s this… it’s so  _abstract_  to see, but it’s a feeling about Kravitz’s body. Magnus looks at him and he thinks  _golden_. The energy about Kravitz is golden.

And then it’s gone. And Kravitz is awake.

 

Taako was trying his best.

He had attempted to get out of his bedroom and go to the kitchen and just… make something.

A grilled cheese. Pancakes. A bowl of cereal. Something simple.

It didn’t work.

Lup was out and he had time to get stuck in his head so he did just that, and now he’s on the floor and his toast is beyond burnt and it’s stinking up his kitchen because it’s poisoned and he’s going to die but–

But first he has to think about how pathetic he is and then he has to–

To think about how much he misses him and–

And how much he wants things back to how they were–

They were good, they’re still good, and Lup’s back and–

And he retreats to his bedroom again.

The toast is still in the toaster and by now it’s probably black and charred, but he doesn’t care. Things are falling to shit and he can’t stand it.

He had tried, for a few days, to get back to an okay state of mind. He pushed  _him_  to the back of his mind and threw on whatever makeup he could. Lup sat on his bed and in between praises reminded him that he didn’t  _have_  to do that.

Taako knew, though, that he did. He had to get back to a routine for his own good. To his credit, the first two days went well. He ignored any upsetting issues and he powered through and he honestly felt  _good_. Lup stayed by his side most of the day, but on the second day she got lunch with Barry for a few hours at the cafeteria. Taako went out to help heal the soldiers. And Taako was fine! He was fine with it!

Except… he didn’t go with them. He was invited along– he had really missed Barry, too– but he didn’t go. In fact, he didn’t each lunch at all.

He was having a hard time with eating again, and it was pissing him off. He  _knew_  what had happened wasn’t his fault, and he  _knew_  that what he was doing was just plain stupid and damaging, but… he was coping.

Taako couldn’t control anything besides this. Lup’s body had just gotten into the works and Lucretia was way too involved in the process for Taako’s comfort. Angus avoided him because he had been so mean and cruel (not that he’d admit to it), and Merle was dealing with his own family’s issues. And Taako just couldn’t bring himself to look at Magnus, no matter how much he smiled and joked.

It only lead back to the horrible reminder that Taako needed to make a call about Kravitz’s body. He couldn’t do that, not yet. He couldn’t just close that chapter of his life like that.

But he could control himself. Taako was in control of his own physical body. That was a solid thing to think.

Lup noticed. Of course she did. Even before the decade he spent alone, even before Sazed, Taako would have issues with food.

When they were kids, Lup got the soup. She got the extra serving of bread, she got the last sip of stolen broth from the kitchen, she got the chocolate he “found” in someone’s pocket. It wasn’t a form of destruction, not then, but rather a selfless act of kindness.

In the IPRE, it became a problem. Suddenly he was in sight of cameras and people  _looked_  at him. It was absolutely fantastic and terribly shameful at the same time.

Luckily, somewhere around the thirtieth loop, he developed the ability to manage it. It never went away, not completely, but after five loops and the constant reminder that  _no one cared about the IPRE anymore because they were all dead_ , Taako was able to ignore it rather successfully.

Then… then Sazed happened. And Sizzlin’ It Up. Then meeting Magnus and Merle again, then the Bureau, then Goldcliff, then Refuge, then then then…

Things got out of hand. Then they were okay.

And now they’re not anymore.

And it wasn’t just because of Kravitz. He was just the icing on the cake.

Lup had one request of him, and she said that she wasn’t trying to throw his groove off or anything. She just wanted to see him cook himself some breakfast. She said that his bread was going bad, and that he should probably use it up before it got moldy. Taako had a principle ingrained into him from their childhood– nothing goes to waste– so he shrugged and agreed.

Blinded by his bliss, he tried. Got up in the morning, put on his robe, and got out of bed to put on makeup and his disguise spell. Kissed Lup on the cheek when she said she had to go talk to Lucas for an hour or so and waved her out the door.

He tried to toast some bread– no spells involved. Hell, there weren’t any  _ingredients_  involved.

But he couldn’t.

He can’t.

So now he’s here, back on his bed, curled up tight against himself.

He doesn’t understand how anybody can hold themselves together. Or… maybe it’s just him. Maybe he’s the only one that’s broken around here.

Everyone else had things easy, didn’t they? And everyone that has something wrong has help and the right things to rebuild what was lost.

It’s just… him.

 

Lup doesn’t actually  _care_  about the technicalities of it.

She just wants to feel Taako’s hair again. She wants to hold Taako again. She wants to hold Barry’s hand and kiss him. She wants to rub Lucretia’s back. She wants to hug Magnus. She wants to hold Merle’s hand and dance with him to swing jazz.

She thinks about this all throughout the meeting, her mind completely awry from the subject. Lucas was going on and on about her lipstick that she left, and how it might not work because it was only the formula or whatever. How the DNA left on it was coated, and therefore more difficult, and blah blah blah…

She doesn’t care. She really, really doesn’t.

She’s thankful that Lucas is trying and she’s thankful that Lucretia is there, two inches away from holding her hand. But she’s always been one to ignore things that she doesn’t care about. She’s also thankful that Lucertia knows this– she’s doing all of the talking while Lup stares into space, lost in her head.

Yes, she’ll run the tests anyway. No, it doesn’t matter if something goes wrong. Yes, they’ll keep trying. No, she doesn’t think the lipstick type matters (here is where Lup absently interjects that it was liquid to matte lipstick). Yes, she’s sure it’ll work.

These words bounce off of Lup’s shoulders. Her mind has wandered to Taako again.

How is he faring? He was acting okay for the past few days but she knows him– if anything, it’s a front. He’s not okay and he’s not put together.

She wonders if he ever made breakfast.

Lucas goes on and on, and at some point he brings out some scalpel-esque object to scrape the lipstick off of the letter. It’s not  _the_  letter. It’s just a tester. She doesn’t look at him and she, though still distracted, distinctly avoids looking at the letter. It means nothing to her now, and she certainly doesn’t care about it anymore, but it doesn’t hold good memories.

So she doesn’t actually mind when Magnus bursts into the room and the letter flies off the table.

They all turn to look at him and his eyes are wide.

He sheepishly laughs before telling them that Kravitz has woken up.

 

Lup isn’t sure where to go first– to Kravitz or to Taako– so she follows the flow of people rushing out of the room. They all rush to Magnus’s apartment, where the front door is already unlocked and open. Lup hasn’t ever been in Magnus’s apartment and she hardly gives it a glance as they all head to his bedroom, but she does notice that there are three candles burning, all with the scent of apple pie.

It’s odd that the detail sticks out in her mind, but that’s what happens in situations like these. The small things get stuck.

They all crowd Magnus’s bedroom– it’s not particularly small by any means, but there’s still four of them, and Magnus may as well count for two people.

Lup can’t see much as Lucretia and Lucas step forward, but she takes in enough.

Kravitz looks  _horrible_. There’s a certain haziness to his form that isn’t major but is still distinguishable– it’s like he’s standing in a room where someone is flicking a dim light on and off. He radiates something, some sort of weak power, that makes Lup tired just by looking at him. She’s not sure how it works, and she hears Lucas whisper something in fascination, but she doesn’t pay much attention to it.

Kravitz’s eyes are open and he’s  _looking_  at them. He looks worn and haggard, but he’s awake.

Lup stands there long enough to see the tired, stiff smile he gives them all before turning and bolting from the room.

 

Lucretia is  _fascinated_.

She doesn’t know a whole lot about reapers, and she didn’t even know Kravitz until about two weeks ago, but she knows  _some_  things.

Reapers are souls that have been selected by the Raven Queen specifically for the job. They carry their own personalities and emotions, and craft their own bodies. They cannot  _technically_  get sick, though certain reapers can get minor illnesses like colds.

She knows enough to confidently say that they  _cannot come back from the dead_.

But there Kravitz is, laying on Magnus’s bed and fully awake.

Lup runs from the room and the rest of them stare at him in dumbfounded shock. The silence carries on for an uncomfortably long amount of time. What does one say to someone who just came back from the dead?

Lucretia is filled with questions, and she’s sure Lucas is too, but none of them are the question that Magnus asks.

“Kravitz, how are you feeling?” He moves forward and kneels by Kravitz’s head. Lucretia is hit with a wave of adoration for him– she doesn’t understand how he can talk to Kravitz like this. Like he isn’t an incredibly powerful being who just did what was perceived to be impossible.

Kravitz smiles at him hesitantly before closing his eyes. He lets out a long breath and seems to sink into the mattress below him. “Like I just got hit by a fucking hammer,” Kravitz mutters, and Lucas sets off.

“Wait, aren’t you a reaper? I’m sorry, I thought reapers couldn’t– well, you came back from the– were you actually dead? How can you die? I thought that reapers– Well, wait, how come you’re tired? I–”

“Lucas.” Lucretia warns, and Lucas quiets quickly. She has questions too, and she’s completely impatient and eager to know the answers, but… Well, she didn’t even know reapers could feel this way, but apparently they can and she supposes that  _she_  wouldn’t want to be bombarded with questions after coming back to life, either.

“Thank you.” Kravitz mumbles, and opens his eyes again. They’re not focused and they’re unseeing. It’s unsettling to see. He looks positively spent, as if there’s no more energy left in his soul, but there’s some stiffness to how he’s positioned. “I’d like to know those answers as well.”

Magnus shifts so that he’s sitting more comfortably on the floor. Lucretia considers drawing up a chair herself. “Do you mind telling us what you remember?”

Kravitz furrows his brow in thought for a few moments before shaking his head and looking at Magnus… or, in the general direction of Magnus. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you.”

Magnus just smiles back and pats Kravitz’s arm. Lucretia knows who he’s thinking about. “It’s fine. No pressure.”

Kravitz looks like there’s something he wants to say but instead he lets the silence grow and, in a quick motion, tries to sit up.

He braces his arm against the bed and props himself up slowly but quickly collapses, lacking any grace he might have once held. His eyes shut and his hand goes to his head and he whispers variations of–  _fuck, okay, not yet, I understand_ – that Lucretia can’t hear clearly.

Magnus is on his feet immediately, bless him. “Kravitz, do you need–”

“I’m fine,” Kravitz sounds strained and definitely  _not fine_ , but he waves his other hand in dismissal. “It’s– I’m just–”

And that’s the moment that Lup and Taako crash through the door.

 

Kravitz was  _blind_.

The left half of him couldn’t feel anything and he couldn’t move his feet or his right leg up to his knee. He couldn’t hear out of his left ear. And he was blind.

But he was awake.

Much like when he was dying, his whole body felt sluggish. His head and his chest were throbbing in pain, and physically he wanted nothing more than to stay laying down for the next century or so.

Kravitz’s soul was incredibly weak. He could feel some uncomfortable force pulling it and shaping it and he knew that it was the Queen, trying the best she could. Whispers hummed through him and they let him know that he  _wasn’t ready, not yet, a favor, be still_.

Kravitz wasn’t supposed to be awake, not yet. But the Queen knew that he didn’t want to wait so long and she gave pity on him. She wasn’t done with his soul.

He would follow her commands– he always did– but he also wasn’t going to do  _nothing_.

Kravitz was awake, and he was alive, and he wanted to see Taako.

Or… he wanted to be near him. He couldn’t technically see Taako.

When he woke he didn’t know where he was. His senses were limited and very much in-the-works, but he could tell that he at least wasn’t on the floor of the auditorium.

Kravitz tried to sit up but wildly miscalculated.

He could then tell that he wasn’t on the auditorium floor, but he was, in fact, on  _a_  floor.

The fall knocked the air from his lungs and he let out a breathless curse. He didn’t fall for that long, but…  _still_. Kravitz wasn’t in a good way. His head was pulsing with pain– why was it even centered there?– but through it all he somehow heard a high scream and a different stream of curses.

Then he heard his name.

There’s moments of silence where Kravitz tried to compose himself and tried to say something, but he could hardly open his eyes.

“Kravitz..?”

Rough, calloused hands rolled him onto his back. Through them Kravitz can feel the strong, solid soul and song of Magnus Burnsides.

He was relieved that it was Magnus– it worked, he was  _alive_ – but a thought from his soul trickled to his mind.

His soul was barely conscious. It was weak and feeble and nearly trembling with the effort of keeping his physical body awake. Kravitz was in the Queen’s hands, and he knew he was, just like he knew he was safe with her.

Kravitz was physically taller than Magnus. He gave off a far more imposing and impressive aura, too. And… and he trusted Magnus, as well. He truly did.

But an instinctual, primal fear was rising in his throat that he could do nothing about that stemmed directly from his soul. For the first time since Kravitz was alive, he was frail and breakable and incredibly vulnerable. He couldn’t see, he could hardly move, he was in immeasurable amounts of pain, and he couldn’t draw his weapon.

Kravitz trusted Magnus. Against the fear rising in his soul, he knew he logically trusted Magnus.

But his soul  _screams_  and begs him to  _run_.

Kravitz held his breath as his body was lifted up and placed on what felt like a mattress. It was illogical to be afraid, it was damn near  _unfair_  to Magnus, but Kravitz just… couldn’t help it.

He listened to Magnus run out of the room with his good ear and let out a shaking breath.

 

Taako doesn’t… he can’t believe Lup.

She bursts into his bedroom quite unannounced and he’s certain it’s because she’s going to chide him for not being able to make toast– not that Lup would ever do that, of course, but  _still_ , he’s being ridiculous. He quickly wipes at his face and tries to make it look like he’s not crying on the floor but she catches his wrist.

She says three words and Taako’s being tugged out the door before he can even register them.

_Kravitz is awake._

 

_Please, please, please go, please, run, dangerous, please–_

Breathe. In, out.

It’s unnecessary to function, but it helps.

_Need to leave, small, shaking, help–_

The Queen’s grip is slipping on his soul. This isn’t what she meant by trying to take things easy– it’s the exact opposite. His soul is worrying itself, so  _he’s_  worrying himself.

In, out. In, out. In, in, out. In, in in, in in in–

_Please, please, scared, frightened, please–_

Magnus and two other people are here now and they crowd the room. Kravitz doesn’t know who the voices belong to that ask him questions and he doesn’t like it.

He tries to answer their questions the best he can. He’s spent most of his time as a reaper pretending, so that’s what he does.

He  _knows_  he’s safe. He  _knows_  Magnus is here, and that he’d never let anyone harm him. He  _knows_  this.

The people around him, whoever they are, just want to know if he’s okay.

He’s not. He needs to leave.

He knows he can’t leave, but he tries anyway. It’s completely on impulse, in the lull of a conversation. Kravitz barely lifts his head when he suddenly feels like it’s on fire and his arms go weak. He can  _feel_  the Queen’s glare on him and her disappointment.

He doesn’t care. The illogical fear in his throat is steadily building to a panic.

This fear dissipates the moment Taako enters the room.


	13. Chapter 13

He can’t hear Taako, and he can’t see Taako, but he  _knows_  it’s him. It’s because of his song, beautiful and quick and flowing. Kravitz has it memorized by heart. It lights up the room, it mutes everything else, and Kravitz can feel it engulf him. **  
**

There’s another song that enters the room with him. It mirrors Taako’s song, and it fills in the holes, but Kravitz doesn’t pay much attention to it. He will later.

The people around the room don’t say anything and it’s eerie to him. Why wasn’t anyone saying anything? Is something wrong? Taako was in the room, wasn’t he?

“… Kravitz?”

He  _is_  in the room.

Kravitz hears footsteps coming towards him– they’re  _his_ , they’re Taako’s boots, slow and careful.

“Taako?” Kravitz blinks in the direction of the footsteps but he still can’t see anything. It’s taunting him and it’s infuriating.

“You're… Okay.”

Taako walks closer and Kravitz has to fight the urge to jump from the bed and run to him. It’s the  _need_  to be with him, the strong yearning that Kravitz can feel stemming from his soul, that tries to overpower him. It’s harder than fighting the Hunger.

He’s missed him.

(Kravitz could have burned down that saloon a million times over.)

There’s movement, then, that Kravitz can hear isn’t from Taako. It’s Lup– the song that he heard mirroring Taako’s, and she’s whispering something snappish. Taako says nothing. There’s shuffling of feet and Kravitz and Taako are alone.

Kravitz hasn’t really spent a lot of time with Lup at all, but he decides that he loves her there and then.

In this silence Taako gains the courage and he moves forward. Kravitz can’t see but he imagines the room to be like dust, floating in a music shop. Each footstep, each beat as Taako moves closer, is a finger on a piano played by a child. It’s quite and it’s hesitant and beautiful in the soft noise. Taako is silent and Kravitz is entranced.

“Are you okay?” Kravitz asks.

Taako moves until he’s kneeling next to Kravitz and he’s so close it’s  _painful_.

“No, yeah, I'm… fine.” Taako’s voice is so distant and so distracted.

Fingers touch Kravitz’s forearm. It’s so light he can barely feel it, but they trace their way up to his shoulder slowly. Kravitz isn’t breathing anymore– he’s just  _waiting_. He doesn’t know what for, and it’s killing him, but the quiet piano in the room is flowing. It’s not quickening, it’s just adding more notes.

Taako moves his hand up and he presses lightly onto Kravitz’s neck, right below his chin. His hand stays there for a few seconds, feeling for something. Whatever he’s trying to find is apparently there.

He lets out a strangled laugh and that’s the catalyst. The piano plays.

Taako nearly jumps onto the bed and Kravitz can feel him swing a leg over his body. There’s hands on his face and Kravitz barely has enough time before there’s lips on his to raise his hands to Taako’s hips.

Taako’s smiling into the kiss, desperate and loving, and Kravitz feels his own lips curl.

He’s safe. He’s okay. They both are.

Kravitz feels like he can positively  _melt_. The wonder and beauty of kissing Taako has never worn off– he’s sure it never will.

Through it, there’s something that he fails to notice. The world doesn’t shake and it doesn’t grow violent. His soul stays where it is. Were he able to see, he would have seen the world as it had been for a while– beautiful and vibrant.

(The Queen was working studiously.)

But he can’t see. He’s not afraid to kiss back, and when he does Taako breaks apart, just for a moment, just to laugh. His hair brushes against Kravitz’s neck.

Taako rolls off of him and twists Kravitz’s body as he does, which actually  _hurts_  for some reason, but Kravitz follows without complaint. There’s a shifting of limbs, trying to avoid each other but desperately trying to pull themselves closer. Kravitz’s left arm is weak and barely forceful as it pulls Taako closer, and Taako seems to have a moment where he can’t decide where to put his legs, but… it works out.

Taako curls himself into Kravitz, his arms snaked around his body and his face pressed into his chest. He just keeps shaking his head and nuzzling deeper into his clothes and Kravitz laughs into Taako’s hair. His right arm is trapped under Taako’s body and his left arm is damn near useless, so Kravitz resorts to peppering Taako’s hair with kisses.

It is, quite simply, perfect.

They quiet but they stay like that for a while– Kravitz dimly wonders what Taako was doing before this–, pressed into each other.

Kravitz’s soul and his being, so very wary and torn and haggard, is peaceful.

He knows Taako. The illogical fear of having something  _rough_  and strong, or crowded and noisy, surrounding him is gone.

He loves Taako.

Taako hasn’t stopped squeezing him in this time. It’s tight and it’s desperate and Kravitz isn’t capable of complex thought, not right now, but he has a feeling something else is happening. He doesn’t mind the pressure at all.

They lay there for a long while– long enough for the room to dim.

They don’t talk about what happened before Kravitz left. They don’t talk about Lup. They don’t talk about that day.

They just lay there, and it’s wonderful.

Perhaps they fell asleep at some time– Kravitz doesn’t know, and he never will. He’s  _content_ – that’s the only word he knows to describe this feeling. He’s tired, and he’s hurting, and he can’t see what the time is, but he’s content. So maybe he does fall asleep. But when he wakes up,  _if_  he wakes up from that potential slumber, it’s to the smell of Taako’s shampoo and the presence of him in his arms.

But all throughout this time, Taako doesn’t loosen his grip.

“Taako, love,” Kravitz mumbles into his hair after a while. He’s got so many questions but none of them are on his mind and so he asks none of them. “I love you.”

The grip on his stomach tightens, and there’s silence for a while. Kravitz doesn’t expect Taako to say anything back. He doesn’t want him to feel pressured, and he doesn’t want him to… say anything he regrets. Kravitz doesn’t care about that, not right now. This is enough.

“I… fuck, Kravitz, yeah.” Taako mumbles. “You were  _dead_.”

He feels very much alive in this moment. It’s almost amusing to him.

“I’m here, love.” Kravitz whispers back. Taako sighs in his arms.

“But you  _weren’t_.”

Oh. That clicks something in Kravitz’s brain– something he learned from Fisher. Something that makes him feel incredibly guilty.

He thinks about Lup, just for a second.

“Taako, look at me.” Kravitz can’t tell if he does, but he feels him shift slightly in his arms. He tries to look where Taako is and he tries to convey what he can’t. “I’m a reaper. I’m not that easy to get rid of.” He tries to joke– they’re on a divide here, he can sense it. There’s a shakily drawn line in the sand, and neither of them really want to cross it. They want to lay by each other, they want to keep this happiness. But it’s not under their control.

Taako says nothing for a few moments but he starts to trace patterns into his arm with his nails. “Yeah, well, that’s what everybody thinks, isn’t it?”

Kravitz… doesn’t know what to say to that.

“Just forget it.” Taako sighs, and he tucks himself back into Kravitz. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He adds, with a melancholy laugh, “This train’s been runnin’ on  _sad_  for far too long.”

There’s things in what Taako says that Kravitz is sure needs addressing. He doesn’t understand most of it, and he feels like if he lets it go it might be a while until Taako brings it up again, if at all. He’s going to let it fester if Kravitz doesn’t pry right now.

So… Kravitz will deal with that when it boils over.

He’s not ignoring it. He’s not avoiding it, and he’s not  _afraid_  of it. He cares, he truly does, and Taako must know this. He’s just… saving it for another day.

There’s a thin balance in the room right then, a security that Kravitz– hell,  _both_  of them– needs. He can’t get worked up, he knows that now. The Queen has made things clear– he needs to rest.

So rest they shall.

“How long was I gone?” He asks instead.

“About a week. Give or take.” Taako whispers back.

“Oh.”

That wasn’t good.

“Lucretia said you were… actually dead.” Kravitz hears what he wants to say and he can’t refute it. They  _were_  that close– this wasn’t going to happen again. This was the second chance.

“She’s right.” He distantly remembers meeting Lucretia out in the hallway– he remembers the last grips of the Queen on him, telling him that Lucretia was out of bounds and to collect her soul. He understands, now. He’s glad he didn’t follow her suggestion. Out of association with Taako, he feels angry with her– Lup means so much to Taako, and to take that away is devastating, but… Personally, on his own, he understands. He forgives her. “I was dead.”

 _Again_.

Kravitz can’t get worked up. He shouldn’t bring this up, he knows. The thought in his head is a dangerous one, full of what could push them both over. It’s stupid, it’s sharp, it’s unnecessary to bring up now.

But he’s no longer afraid of it.

He’s lost Taako once, and he can’t do it again, he knows. Neither of them can do this again.

He takes a deep breath. He’s ready for the resistance Taako will give him, and when he tells his story he’s ready for whatever Taako says to him.

“Taako, I… should apologize.” And as soon as he says this, Taako shakes his head against him.

“No. We’re not doing this.”

Something pulses in Kravitz’s chest. It squeezes where his heart should be.

“Taako, I understand that–”

“ _No_.” Taako’s hands finally unhook from Kravitz’s back and he grips the front of his shirt. Kravitz can’t see him, but he’s almost got a perfect picture of the face Taako is giving him. He doesn’t like it. “I don’t care, one-hundo percent. I don’t give a shit about–”

“But I need to tell you–”

“Save it–”

“Taako–”

_“I’m not risking anything anymore.”_

 

And then Taako is crying.

It’s silent. Kravitz can feel the wetness on his shirt.

 

“I’m not gonna fucking– I don’t  _care_ , whatever it is I don’t fucking care, Kravitz. I’ve never fucking– Gods, if it’s bad, I  _don’t want to hear it_.”

Taako cries for a while after that. Kravitz lets him.

He rubs his hand up and down Taako’s back. He kisses his forehead and he kisses away the tears and he doesn’t say anything when Taako lets out loud, sharp sobs. When Taako hiccups  _Lup_  between tears, Kravitz is silent. He pulls Taako close and he feels him on his heart.

It’s all he can do.

Kravitz can stay by Taako’s side, and he can feel the guilt of knowing that he  _caused some of this_.

“I’m sorry, Taako.” Kravitz whispers, after most of the cries have died down. He’s never wanted to see Taako like this, and he had thought that he never would. He wants to be there for it, though– he wants to be the one by Taako’s side, holding his hand, leading him through life and giving him the support he needs.

He wants to  _be there for him_. But he wasn’t.

“F-Fucking  _save_ –”

“Taako, please listen.” He says, and surprisingly Taako is silent.

Kravitz wishes so badly that he could see Taako’s face.

“I… I know you don’t want to listen to me. I’m so  _sorry_ , Taako, I really am. I didn’t want to leave you– I  _never_  want to leave you, and I never will.

Unless… you want me to.”

He’ll leave, if Taako wants. He truly will. It will destroy him, he knows. He’ll go back to how he once was– emotionless and  _solid_ , and that concept  _terrifies_  him, but he’ll do it without complaint if Taako wants him to. Kravitz is so fucking aware of what he’s done to Taako and he’s so aware of what the  _world_  has done to him. If Taako wants to minimize one less tragedy, then so be it.

So he  _has_  to say this. While everything’s on the table and while things aren’t certain, he  _has_  to be sure.

“I want to tell you why I left, Taako. And maybe you’ll understand, or maybe… you won’t. And that’s  _fine_. If you want me to leave… I will. I don’t want things to be more difficult for you than they already are. I  _do_  love you.”

Taako doesn’t move in his arms and it’s an invitation to talk and Kravitz wonders if he’s really doing the right thing, just for a split moment. But when he starts his story and the words move like silk, all doubt is lost.

“I told you about my brother, that day. But I didn’t tell you about how he died.

I didn’t collect his soul, Taako. I should have. I shouldn’t have outlived him by so many years.

He had a lot ahead of him– we both did. I told you this.

One day, on the farm, he did something he shouldn’t have. It was an honest mistake, and he died from it.”

Kravitz is not going into detail. He’s not describing accurately the heartbreak of that night, standing and breathing in the stars and the sharp air and feeling his fingertips go numb when the nurse tells him his brother has stopped breathing.

He stumbled over himself on his way up the stairs.

He’s not telling about his brother’s teacher, visiting the mansion a week later and asking where his brother was and how he was doing.

(She had brought a box of chocolates for him. Kravitz thanked her, he said he’d deliver them to him.

They had rotted on the kitchen table.)

He’s not talking about the funeral that he almost didn’t attend. He’s not talking about his brother’s friends, coming around to the house and asking for him.

He’s not talking about the fights he and his parents had that echoed through the long, desolate halls. The bitter rage that he felt that bounded off the walls when his parents told him that they were leaving the farmhouse. (How could they do that? How could they leave and let his bedroom go to dust? Didn’t they  _understand_?)

There’s tears and days that he doesn’t talk about now. Days of staying in bed, where he let his stomach growl for hours. Days where his hair grew grimey and his clothes started to smell. Ugly, horrible days that he was ashamed of.

There’s his friends, people so close who had been just like family, who had been invited to dinners and who had bought his mother flowers on her birthday, that are pushed away. He hears them, two months after giving up on knocking on the front door, yelling in the streets on the way to the saloon during the nights. They forgot him, as did the world.

Kravitz doesn’t talk about them. He doesn’t talk about the memories. But a tear, hot and slow, falls from his unseeing eyes. He doesn’t notice it. Taako does.

“I did things I shouldn’t have. I pushed people away and I made some… pretty shit decisions.

Taako, I didn’t die of grief. I consciously killed myself.”

They’re clunky and gaudy words to say. But death doesn’t mean the same thing to Kravitz as it does to everyone else. The words flow from his mouth as anything else would, and that is what’s sad to him.

“Too many things had gone wrong and no one was there for me. Or– or maybe it was something  _I_  did wrong. But it wasn’t romantic or poetic or beautiful or all the things mortals say death is. It was a slow, ugly descent.

But… before then, you would have loved who I was. I was, quite honestly, an idiot. I drank and I danced and I was popular with the people in my town. I thought nothing of much of anything.

When I left you that day, I was… well, I suppose I was afraid. I had told you so much,  and I realized something. I realized that you, Taako, would have liked me better back then, and that’s my fault. I’m  _nothing_  now, you have to understand, and I only wish you could have seen who I was.

What I did was… it was wrong and it was  _sad_ , Taako.

I could have been better and…

And I don’t…

Taako, I understand if– well, there’s  _better_  things than I out there. You shouldn’t– you  _don’t_  have to accommodate for me, you don’t– I’m really not even allowed to be doing this and I don’t want you to feel like you ever  _have to_  do this.

And if that changes anything… then I’ll go.”

Taako has Lup. He has Magnus, and Merle, and Carey and Killian– hell, even Lucretia, if he’d just ask.

Kravitz is oddly calm as he waits for Taako’s answer.

He waits for a while.

Taako doesn’t say anything. His breathing is slow, his grip is loose.

Kravitz isn’t sure if Taako’s faking but he pulls him closer and kisses the top of his head anyway. If he imagines the smile on his chest, which is entirely plausible, he says nothing about it.


	14. Chapter 14

They don’t talk about what Kravitz said when the morning comes.

Taako heard every word. He doesn’t want to talk about it.

He feels like he’s discovered some new asset of Kravitz that is major and changes things, but it really doesn’t. What Kravitz says is the past  _is the past_. He’s still Kravitz, he’s still  _there_ , and nothing will change how much Taako loves him. Taako understands why he’s always pushed off telling that particular story– it’s not like it affects him today.

Things don’t change. Or, at least, they don’t have to.

Kravitz is awake. He’s alive, he’s okay, he’s in one piece.

He’s… relatively unharmed.

Taako had a nightmare when he fell asleep. He doesn’t remember it when he wakes up and sits bolt upright, gasping for breath.

He  _does_  remember Kravitz blinking awake, looking anywhere but  _at him_  and groggily calling his name.

Taako puts the back of his hand to his lips and he starts to cry  _again_. It’s sudden, quiet choked down sobs threatening to escape his lips that he has to hastily muffle with his hand. He wasn’t even aware he could have cried more, and quite honestly he’s embarrassed.

He covers it up quickly and hides it better than last night. He’s got everything he needs– Taako shouldn’t be crying and he  _isn’t_  going to cry, not anymore, especially not first thing in the morning. Taako had his moment and now it’s time to move on. He steadies his hands, steadies his breathing, and tells Kravitz that it was only someone at the door.

If Kravitz can believe it, then Taako can force himself to as well.

Of course, the door is cracked open and there’s smells of Lup’s distinct cooking wafting in and  _no one is at the door_ , but Kravitz doesn’t know, because… because he’s blind.

Taako notices, almost immediately, through the way Kravitz’s eyes don’t quite rest on anything.

Watching Kravitz, if only for a few seconds, has his heart on edge and he bites on the back of his hand.

“Taako, I should say…” Kravitz starts, and he’s not moving, he isn’t moving,  _why isn’t he moving_?

“There's… a lot of  _things_  happening but, uh, I'm… not…”

“You’re blind.”

Taako can hardly get the words out of his throat. They catch like rocks and scratch along the sides of him.

Kravitz is a reaper.  _He’s not supposed to change_.

“Well, yes, but it’s only temporary.” Kravitz is quick to say. “The Queen is doing all she can. Some things are just off for now.”

Okay. Okay, okay, okay. Taako quickly wipes his hand across his eyes and he takes a breath. The relief he feels is tiring, and not all sincere, but welcomed. He could handle “temporary”. Temporary is fine. It has a definite ending that he can see.

“U-uh, weird, okay.” Taako says, he and tries to steady his voice and sound unbothered as best he can. He doesn’t want to make a scene– he wants to go into the living room of Magnus’s apartment, he wants to eat whatever Lup is cooking, and he wants to  _stop crying_. ”What– uh, what else is…?”

He hears movement behind him and Taako just  _prays_  that Kravitz is sitting up, or that he’s moving, or that the next thing out of his mouth  _isn’t_  a list of items.

He can’t be so lucky.

“Well, yesterday I couldn’t– I suppose that doesn’t matter now.” Kravitz sounds oddly avoidant, and Taako chances a look at him. He’s sitting up, and he looks pretty surprised about it, and Taako just  _can’t_  think about what that must imply. “My left side from the neck down, it seems, is numb. And… I still can’t move my feet. I also think I might have lost my sense of smell…? I’m not really sure.”

As Kravitz lists things off, Taako realizes that he would have rather just not asked at all.

He shuts his eyes tight. He wonders, vaguely, if Istus is listening. She’s probably laughing.

 

Kravitz wakes up when Taako jerks out of his grasp and the first thing he notices is that things are different than they were yesterday.

He still can’t see. He’s not sure if this is just him or atmospheric, but he can’t smell anything. His right ring finger won’t move. He’s still beyond tired. The left side of him is consistently numb, but now he can at least control it.

It’s interesting to note the contrasts– he normally wasn’t that numb, but he  _had been_ , just months ago. This used to be his connection to his body constantly, and now it’s simply odd to feel. Through the oddities and sadness of it all, it almost makes him smile.

The uncomfortable tug and pull of his soul is still happening, like a cough he can’t get out of his chest. He hopes that in whatever she’s doing, the Queen can feel the love he has for her.

 

“We’ll, uh, do…” Taako doesn’t want to move, not really– he wants to keep Kravitz here, keep Lup where he can hear her singing to some bad radio song, and he wants everyone to  _stay_. But he knows he’s got to keep moving. Life isn’t going to stand still for him– and, that being said, they’re in Magnus’s apartment and should probably go.

Except… except Taako has lived with Magnus for a century. He’s slept in the same bed as him for some years. Magnus doesn’t mind this.

That thought, more than anything, spurs Taako into going.

“Smells like Lup’s cooking.” Taako says, chipper as he can manage. If and once they make it to the kitchen, Lup’s going to look straight through his shit. It doesn’t take a genius to notice his puffy eyes or his red skin. He just prays she doesn’t say anything.

“Interesting.” Kravitz mumbles to himself, and his unfocused eyes stray to the doorway. “I can’t smell, it seems.”

Taako  _knows_  that’s because of whatever was happening with the Queen. And he knows that the Queen is only involved because Kravitz had died. He knows that  _this isn’t good_.

But he’s just going to pretend like it’s just a normal, bad day. He can do this.

“Well, I’ll let you know– it smells tight. Let’s go.” Taako scoots back until he’s sitting next to Kravitz. Food seems like the most unappealing thing in the world at the moment, but he’s trying to act  _normal_ , and this is what normal is.

Kravitz looks in his direction, which is still unsettling– would he wear sunglasses if Taako asked?– and smiles hesitantly. “Taako, I can’t really…”

No, no, no. Normal. Taako racks his brain, quickly coming up with a solution. He leans over Kravitz to the edge of the bed– Kravitz puts a hand on his back absently, maybe to see where Taako was, and Taako pauses for the quickest second.

(It’s still nice.)

He casts a large mage hand that floats next to Kravitz on the bed. When he leans back and looks between Kravitz and the hand, he actually laughs. Fantasy Hamburger Helper is his boyfriend’s wheelchair. Bonus points because his boyfriend is literally Death.

“It’s the weirdest throne ever, but it works.” Taako slips off his side of the bed, watching Kravitz stare in the direction of the mage hand.

He reaches a hand out and touches the palm of the hand, and once he has a solid grip on it his eyes blink a few times. Kravitz looks in the direction of the fingertips, but this time his eyes are focused. Taako doesn’t have hope when he sees this. Things can’t be that easy for him.

“That’s interesting.” Kravitz mumbles. A smile breaks across his face, soft and small. He looks like a child at a candy store. Taako hasn’t ever really seen Kravitz look at something with wonder before– besides him, of course. If he’s being real, it’s pretty fucking adorable. “You cast mage hand?”

“Yeah?” Taako is aware that he’s a super good wizard, but mage hand isn’t  _that_  impressive.

“I can tell it’s yours. I can see the energy, and… It’s just… interesting. That’s all.”

Taako isn’t quite sure what that means, but he’s gonna roll with it.

He stands and paces the room as Kravitz hauls himself out of the bed and sits on the mage hand. Taako distinctly avoids looking at Kravitz, even when he floats over to his side and takes his hand.

It’s cold. Taako doesn’t think about it.

In the kitchen, Lup is standing over a frying pan, singing under her breath as she pushes around a spatula. A mage hand is being guided by her own hand, actually pushing the food around. Seeing her there, even if she’s just barely a body, is a relief. She’s  _Lup_ , and he consciously has to remind himself that she’s here to stay. Just having her be in the kitchen, or in the same space, as him when he wakes up is so much more than he’s used to but it’s  _exactly_  what he needs.

It’s not a relief to remember that Lup is  _making food_. Kravitz technically doesn’t have to eat, and Lup… Taako’s not sure if she  _can_  eat. It’s going to he him, alone, sitting and eating. And they’re going to watch him. Or, in Kravitz’s case, observe. The idea is completely unpleasant. He knows why it’s unpleasant, and he’s going to push it to the back of his head.

When they enter, Lup turns her head and gives them a smile that glows through her closed lips.

(Taako knows Lup is back. But he wants her body back, too. This form of hers.. it’s  _serious_. Lup isn’t his twin, she isn’t the one that scares him at three in the morning with her cold feet on his back, she isn’t the one that would throw random foods in his water that was supposed to be boiling for pasta. Lup is a litch, a scientific being, and she’s making food for one person with a conjured hand. Lup is a genius, in whatever way that Taako sees her, but it’s different now.

Maybe, when Lup smiles, she wants to pretend, too.)

“What’s up, sleepyheads?” She asks, and  _Gods_  he just wants to hold her hand.

“What smells like dog shit?” Taako shoots back, and when her grin widens and her gaze flickers to Kravitz, he’s thankful. He’s safe with her. It’s not healthy, but she’s going to let him be.

“You, probably. When’s the last time you showered? Kravitz, how can you stand being around this rat?”

Taako looks at Kravitz, finally breaking his gaze on Lup, and where he expects a politely teasing retort, pure Kravitz style, there’s nothing of the sort.

Kravitz is squinting at Lup, his eyes blinking like he’s looking at the sun. His left hand lay useless in his lap, but his right hand is miming what looks like piano playing. Dark matter was trying to materialize under his hand, but with each subtle press of his fingers the matter would disappear. He doesn’t seem to be paying attention to it, but his movements are deliberate.

Taako understands. Kravitz is being told to draw his weapon.

“I can’t actually smell.” Kravitz says after a beat that was slightly too long, and despite whatever was happening with him,  he smiles. “Though I do hear the flies buzzing.”

Taako looks away and really, truly smiles. He loves Kravitz. “Uh, can it with the romantics, please.”

Kravitz smiles back up at him– or, in his direction– but his fingers still twitch and the matter is becoming more aggressive.

“I’m gonna like you, reaper boy.” Lup says, and she turns back to her cooking. If she noticed what was happening, she didn’t say anything.

 

Kravitz’s first real impression of Lup up close is that she’s  _beautiful_.

Kravitz can see her colors, swirling around where she’s supposedly standing. Crimson and yellow billow around her soul, and it’s so brilliant that Kravitz nearly forgets that he’s blind to the world around him. He can hear her song, loud and messy, that meshes so wonderfully with Taako’s beside him. The holes in Taako’s soul are for  _her_ – she fits so comfortably with him, and together they are a song unlike any he’s heard before.

Kravitz is quiet and still. But all around him, color and sound plays.

He listens to this song, and then there’s sudden a tug in his soul.

It’s so violent it  _hurts_. The Queen fumbles her grip on him, just slightly, but she doesn’t scold him. She programmed him like this, and it is through her carelessness that she let him go too early to control himself.

Kravitz personally does not want Lup gone. He knows what it would do to Taako– it’s not even an  _option_  for any of them. But still, his instincts are trying to materialize themselves, and an urge tells him to  _take her_. She’s a  _litch_ – one of the highest bounties, higher than the IPRE members. His whole purpose, the whole reason he’s  _conscious_ , is to reap beings like her.

He’s not going to. But it’s uncomfortable to suppress, to say the least.

He stares at her, transfixed in her beauty. At some point, Taako lets go of his hand, and Kravitz can feel himself being floated away from Lup and to (where he can assume to be) the living room.

That’s… that’s another thing.

Kravitz is  _death_. He’s never been helpless, or dependent on anything, or this clueless. He almost feels human when he reaches his hand out and feels the cushions of a couch next to him and has to haul his useless body onto it. It makes him restless, and though he’s tired he still wants to  _move_. He wants to fight against what ails him, he wants to stand and do his job and he wants to  _see_.

Kravtiz settles on the couch where he’s put, his legs stretched in front of him, and he looks at nothing.

He listens to Lup in the kitchen, he listens to her push around something that sizzles in its pan. He feels Taako sit on the armchair that he’s resting his back against. The cushions dip under his weight.

Instinctively, Kravitz cannot sleep where Lup is. His target is  _right there_. It’s his nature and, even deeper than that, it’s in his contract. He physically cannot sleep while she goes free, though he desperately wants to.

So Kravitz leans his head back and rests it on Taako’s leg. He listens to Taako talk to his sister. He feels Taako absently start to detangle his hair.

Kravitz closes his eyes and he watches the Queen work on his restless soul.

 

Lup pretends like she’s not watching the two of them studiously.

Last night was the first time that she had felt comfortable leaving Taako alone (though she, herself, had to spend the night curled up next to Barry. The absence of a body was frightening).

She trusted Kravitz. Not only because he was immortal, or because he was the Grim Reaper, but also because Taako did. If Taako could look that happy with another human being, and if Taako could look at Kravitz that disgustingly, then Lup trusted Kravitz.

She trusted her brother’s judgement like she trusted her own.

But she still wanted to see what all of the fuss was about.

Kravitz was… certainly handsome, she’ll admit. He could take a joke, too. He dressed well (if a little  _too_  well), and he took care of his hair. All pluses.

Of course, Lup was going to rail on the two of them endlessly and try her best to intimidate Kravitz (she wonders if she can, because honestly if she ends up scaring the  _Grim Reaper_  she’ll have completed a major bucket list item). But looking at the two of them, watching the quiet of the room, she decides that she’ll try to do that later.

“I hope you kids are hungry.” She says, standing over two plates and wondering, for a hot moment, if Kravitz eats. She’ll make him up a plate anyway.

“Rad.” Taako says, and from next to him Kravitz hums sleepily. Lup glances at him and can’t help the smile that grows on her face. He looks like a cat stretched out in the sun.

“Y’know, Mister Hot Topic, you’re a lot less intimidating than I would have thought.” She muses aloud, turning back to her work and expertly plating some eggs and adding some decorative basil leaves to the top. It’s been awhile since she’s made up food for someone new. It’s fun to show off.

“My apologies.” Kravitz replies, “Tomorrow I’ll make sure I’m covered in blood when you see me.”

Yeah, she likes him.

Lup uses her mage hand and floats the plates over, following them a few paces back. Taako instinctively grabs his out of the air.

Then he grabs the other plate and quietly sets it on Kravtiz’s lap. Kravitz doesn’t move.

So… he doesn’t eat.

“That one’s for you, and I’ll appreciate the compliment you give me for it.” Lup jokes, settling herself on an armchair next to the couch. It’s her way of testing the waters and seeing what Kravitz could explain of himself. Kravitz, for all intents and purposes, is now family. But he’s still a reaper, and he’s still extremely fascinating to her.

Taako starts to push his food around on his plate with his fork while they talk, and Lup keeps a covert eye on him. Kravitz being alive doesn’t solve all of Taako’s problems.

“I’m sure it looks lovely.” Kravitz says, “But I’m sorry to say that it would be best for me not to.”

“Not really sure what you mean by that, but okay.” She folds her arms and pouts, slumping over further in her chair. He didn’t give her a whole lot to play with or ask about, but whatever. Water off the shoulders. “I suppose if  _some_  people want to  _waste_  talents, then I’ll just find some  _better_  boyfriend for my dear brother, someone who  _appreciates_  the arts.”

“His favorite meal is french fries.” Taako mumbles, finally taking a small bite of deviled egg. Kravitz makes a noise of protest.

Lup grins wickedly. She’s a child on Candlenights morning with this information. Death, Taako’s boyfriend, loves french fries. “No fuckin’ way–”

“It–  _listen_ –”

“He likes the salt.” Taako looks up and winks at Lup while Kravitz blushes furiously.

“Listen, I can’t– salt is easy to taste!”

Lup  _really_  doesn’t know what he means, but it makes her laugh anyway, and Taako soon joins in as Kravitz quickly tries to explain.

“The– my taste buds–”

“His taste buds!” Lup laughs out, because  _what the fuck_?, and now Kravitz folds his arms.

“I am– the– You don’t–  _I am the Grim Reaper_.” He finally says with a pout, and Lup nearly leaves her form she laughs so hard.

“You’re very intimidating.” Taako cooes through giggles, tapping his fingers on Kravitz’s forehead. “We’re all afraid of you, don’t worry.”

Kravitz huffs angrily, but Lup can also see the smile he’s trying to hide.

“You–”

“ _H-Hello_?”

There’s a knock at the door, and from behind it comes the muffled voice of a child. All conversation comes to a screeching halt.

 

Angus McDonald, world’s greatest and best Boy Detective, had not been doing a whole lot of detective work lately.

In fact, he hadn’t been doing much of anything.

He had sent a letter out to his parents, but he had yet to hear back from them and was getting antsy. But being as smart as he was and is, Angus tried not to fixate on that. The post would be a little slow naturally– no one on the moon was up to delivering letters.

So instead, he tried to help where he could to keep his young mind educated and ready for anything.

That didn’t end up happening. Angus McDonald, world’s greatest and best Boy Detective, spent most of his time helping out by running bottles of water and cans of food to and from the auditorium. He was also sweeping, dusting, and cleaning up after clean up crews.

It wasn’t very exciting, and he was selling himself short. But at least it kept him busy.

And sometimes he could see his friends.

(Not really, but he could catch glimpses.)

While delivering sandwiches to the warriors, he could wave to Merle, who would look at him and quickly pretend like he didn’t see, which… Well, he was with his family, so Angus could understand.

Taako was mean to him when they interacted, and while he normally was mean anyway, this time Angus couldn’t see through his teasing. And Angus loved Taako, he really really did, but he could only take so much without starting to cry. Angus knew why Taako was being mean, and when Taako was super mean to him he could only remember this reason and get upset himself. It was a cycle that Angus wanted to avoid.

Madame Director, who was often more than glad to share a cookie with him, was too busy for matters such as Angus. She didn’t say so outright, but Angus understood this, too.

Once Angus saw Magnus, walking out of Madame Director’s office, and excitedly said hello! But.. Magnus was reading a sheet of paper, and it looked important, and he didn’t notice him. Angus was sure that if he had, he would have said hello back.

Angus didn’t seek out Magnus after that– he spent a lot of time in his apartment, and… and Angus knew that’s where Kravitz’s body was.

Angus didn’t want to think about Kravitz very much, but he did anyway. Kravitz was the first person that Angus knew of that had died on the day of the battle.

They didn’t know each other very well, Agnus had realized afterwards. But they knew each other  _enough._

Angus liked Kravitz. He liked him a lot.

He also watched him die, right in front of his eyes.

So Angus avoided Magnus. It was kinda easy.

(Things were lonely, though.)

Until, nearly two weeks later, when Magnus had quite literally ran into him in the hallway.

Angus hadn’t expected to see Magnus out of his room, and so he wasn’t looking or paying mind to anything as he wandered the halls in the early morning. He hadn’t slept well that night, and going to Taako’s room was off the table, so he resorted to meandering around the base.

No one was up during that hour, anyway.

Except, apparently, Magnus, whose knee Angus ran directly into.

“Ango!” Magnus greeted, because apparently he hadn’t noticed Angus, either. They  _were_  on two very contrasting heights, after all.

“Good morning sir!” Angus said reflexively, pretending like Magnus didn’t just scare the daylights out of him.

“Hey, Angus, I’ve been looking for you, actually. I’ve got to tell you something– it’s pretty cool!”

 

“U-um… I– Hello? Is– Kravitz? T-Taako, sir? Oh gosh, maybe it was a prank… That would be awful mean…”

There’s another sniff, and the voice grows fainter as it mumbles to itself.

“I… wow, that was a mean one. O-okay…. It was stupid of me…”

And  _that’s_  where Kravitz knows the voice.

“Angus?”

He opens his eyes and sits up the best he can, looking to the direction of the voice. Movement happens around him as Taako and Lup stand and the words finally sink in. It’s  _infuriating_  to not stand with them, to not run to the door. Instead he (not so gracefully, but who’s watching?) lowers himself to the ground, hoping to at least be eye-level with Angus.

(It’s not fair to Angus to be this excited. Kravitz tries to steady his face, and it doesn’t really work.)

 

Angus is a few steps from the door when it opens.

He was stupid to believe Magnus. Angus is a good detective, but maybe he should entertain the idea that he’s  _dense_.

To be fair to himself, though, it didn’t  _sound_  like a prank. Angus didn’t think Magnus would goof about a topic that’s so sensitive, and he didn’t think he was that much of a good actor. Maybe… maybe with Magnus’s memories back, there came with them a meanness that wasn’t there before.

Probably not. It’s probably just Angus. He’s just a naive kid, after all.

He sniffs again, and lifts his glasses to wipe at his eyes.  _Stupid_.

“Ango?”

Angus turns around, eyes wide in surprise as he sniffs again. “I– I’m sorry, um…”  
Taako and what looks like a carbon copy of him, darkened but glowing like a sort of enchanted shadow, have peeked their heads from the door frame. The shadow… it’s Lup, Angus recognizes her. Angus hasn’t really talked to her since they first met, but she looks the same as ever. He wonders if she’s always going to look like that.

“What’s up, big man?” Taako asks, and it’s a lot nicer than he’s been in weeks. He’s… kinda smiling.

Angus feels hope fill his heart. There must be a reason he’s so happy, right? “I– um– Magnus told me, sir, that… um, K-Kravitz uh–”

“Oh shit!” Taako looks at Angus like he’s just now noticing him. “No one told you?”

“Well– Well, Magnus did, sir–”

Taako grins like a cat, all curled lips, and crosses his arms and leans against the doorway. As if he didn’t hear what Angus just said, he proclaims, “Well, Kravitz didn’t want anyone to tell you ‘cause he actually  _hates_  you–”

From inside the apartment, Angus hears a disappointed, stern voice say, “ _Taako_.”

Angus’s face splits in two with a smile.

Taako starts to say something but Angus hardly listens. He just darts past Taako and Lup and runs into Magnus’s living room.  

Sure enough, it’s true. Kravitz is sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch, looking at Angus, and he’s smiling.

Angus doesn’t really know Kravitz very well. But that doesn’t stop him from running and throwing his arms around him, hiding his face in Kravitz’s shirt, and holding on very, very tightly.

There’s a beat where Kravitz doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything, and Angus thinks that maybe he’s stepping over some boundaries.

It takes a moment, but then there’s arms around Angus holding him close and a cold cheek pressing into his hair.

Taako says something along the lines of “Well, this is literally awful.” Angus doesn’t pay him any attention.


	15. Chapter 15

Eggs. In the pan. Two of ‘em.

He doesn’t know what’s  _inside_  the eggs. They’re completely raw– the stove isn’t on– but he should test them anyway.

No. No, wait, what is he talking about? He’s not going to eat  _raw egg_ , that’s ridiculous. He’s going to just turn on the fire and cook it. Then he’ll test it. What would he get from eating raw egg anyway? Whether or not it’s poisoned, he’s going to throw up.

Taako sighs and runs a hand through his hair in aggravation. This isn’t going well.

It had taken him five whole minutes of pure internal debate to decide on what to cook for breakfast. Then it took another ten minutes to get the eggs out of the fridge. Mentally, today was not a good day, and he could say that with utter confidence despite the fact that it was only three in the morning (and, he should add, way too early to be making eggs anyway).

He had settled himself on the idea of scrambled eggs with garlic and mushrooms and onions. It is hilariously simple for him to make– so why can’t he do it?

Taako’s eyes flicker to Magnus’s room. Through the open door he can see his boyfriend, asleep with an arm draped around a snoring boy detective.

It’s absolutely adorable, and Taako can’t make eggs, and he doesn’t deserve them.

Yesterday was probably the best day that Taako could have asked for. Lup hung around for most of it and they spent the time doing absolutely  _nothing_. Taako curled himself up into Kravitz’s side on the couch as Kravitz dozed, and Angus got in magic practice by conjuring a mage hand and attempting to control it well enough to braid Lup’s corporeal hair. They threw on Fantasy Bachelorette and, once that was over, Say Yes to the Fantasy Dress. Lup and Taako took turns quipping about the drama and the dresses, and Taako got the familiar feeling of being  _home_.

He was supposed to be by Kravitz’s side. He was supposed to have his sister with him. It all fit– even Angus.

Some things disturbed the peace at times. Lup would have to leave because she promised to see Barry (Taako felt bad for keeping Lup from him so often, but not bad enough to say anything. Taako’s had it rough, okay? He deserves this). Angus would run out to check the Fantasy Mail every couple of hours, though he wouldn’t say why. Kravitz, who normally (secretly) liked joining in on watching and commentating on bad reality T.V., stayed silent for most, if not all of the time. He had laid back down on the couch and had, at some point, shifted so his arm was across Taako’s body and his cold nose was buried in his neck. He was, for what it was worth, the cutest and most comfortable deadweight Taako had ever seen– but Taako wasn’t completely sure he was ever truly asleep. Occasionally he’d mumble something incoherent in response to something, but mostly he was quiet.

He and Taako had slept through breakfast, Lup had told him, and Taako was secretly relieved. Through the commotion with Angus, Taako had also managed to avoid most of his lunch. That was another plus.

Lup had to leave for dinner with Barry, and the moment she did Kravitz was out like a light, for sure. Angus left shortly after to run errands for someone (Taako didn’t pay attention as he said who).

Kravitz woke up later, after Taako was deep into episodes of Fantasy Drag Race. He was coherent enough to ask, and this is a direct quote, “Which bachelorette said yes to the drag?”.

(Taako had to literally push him off the couch and onto a Bigsby’s Hand, as he shortly passed out afterward asking this valuable question. Getting him onto the bed was certainly a process.)

Taako was more than happy to join him in sleeping, even though they spent pretty much the entire day laying on the couch.

Halfway through the night, the bedroom door had creaked open, much to Taako’s annoyance. He woke with the noise, and meekly listened to half of a rushed explanation that could be summed up with  _I had a nightmare_. Around the fifth iteration of “I’m very sorry for disturbing you, sirs”, Taako grumbled and lifted up the sheets for the new person. Later, if anyone asked, he’d say that he didn’t feel like listening to hours of pleading, and he was too tired to say no. (But he  _had_  been a little too harsh to Angus lately, anyway. He’ll let it slide. Just once.)

Kravitz didn’t wake up then. But he did pull the two of them closer and make it very hard for Taako not to cry again.

He really,  _really_  doesn’t deserve them.

It was a fight to get out of that bed in the morning. But at some point he couldn’t stand another sleepless hour staring at the wall. He got in five hours, and that seemed to be his limit.

So he wiggled how way out of the warm bed and went to the only place that he had ever felt at peace before– the kitchen.

It was a gamble, for sure.

He would either get the comfort he searched for– the mechanical movements of his hands on a knife, the mindless peeling of fruits, the comfort of knowing that he was doing what he knew how to do. It cleared his mind and allowed him to simply  _be_  and do this thing.

(Lucretia couldn’t take this from him.)

He would either gain solace, or… or this.

(Maybe she could. Maybe she did.)

This constant paranoia; double and triple checking his items and ingredients and tirelessly trying to do something right just to feel like shit no matter the outcome. He’d get a trash can full of fully cooked and decorated meals because he was  _sure_  that he’d ruined them.

(Cooking was supposed to be  _his_.)

Sometimes he’d actually  _want_  the second result. He saw it as his punishment, which was a small price for what he’d done to all those people. His pain would never amount to agony of the lives of the families he had ruined (gods, he took out an entire fucking  _town_ ).

But… now things were different, weren’t they?

Now he’d been cleared of all charges– now he just wanted comfort and an escape.

He had Lup. He had his memories. He had Kravitz. He had the knowledge that what happened  _wasn’t his fault_.

Yet things still weren’t easy. Still he was punished.

There were two eggs in his pan, on a fire that wasn’t yet lit, staring up at him.  _Mocking_  him.

Why’d he let Lucretia take this away? Why can’t he move on? Why doesn’t he tell someone? Why doesn’t he just give up? Why didn’t he just scrap the eggs and pull a yogurt out of the fridge and eat  _that_? Why is he so damn pathetic? Why isn’t he better?

Lup would make fun of him. That’s what his head told him–  _no one_  could see  _him_ , Taako From T.V., standing and staring, not moving, at these stupid eggs for five minutes and  _not_  laugh at him. She’d tell him he’s better than this and she’d laugh at him.

Except that  _she wouldn’t_. She has never, not once, made fun of him in their entire lives and actually meant it. She’s not like everyone else. He should be ashamed of himself for even thinking so.

No, he shouldn’t. His life is in pieces. He’s allowed to be like this.

But he’s  _not_. He’s Taako, and Taako is an idiot wizard who doesn’t think about things like these. Taako the idiot wizard trusts his sister.

Impulsively, Taako reaches forward and clicks the stove on so that there’s a fire under the pan. When they flames appear he flinches, recoiling from it.

Were the flames too high? They looked too bright for a regular stove, was something wrong? Is this the right stove? What about the pan, the pan looks hot, is it really hot, though? He should touch it– no! No, don’t touch it– it looks like it could start  _melting_. And what about the eggs? Oh, gods, he’s going to fuck it up, they’re turning a different color, what if he’s–  _is_  he supposed to be doing something? The fire is going to  _burn_  them!

For a terrifying moment, he thinks he can feel a hand at the small of his back, small encouragement with traces of a warning. A wisp on the back of his neck from the nostrils of a halfling, burly and muscular and imposing. Taako freezes.

_He could do better, he told me he could, he was right, it was my fault, I should have let him–_

And then Taako blinks a few times, quick as his beating heart.

There’s no one there. He’s alone in the kitchen. The eggs are barely even hot.

He lets out a shaking breath, and despite the quiet, turns around to check his surroundings. He’s  _not_  in his stagecoach– he’s in Magnus’s kitchen. That’s safe.

But what if  _he_  knows where this is?

Taako clears his throat, and despite the building panic in his heart he turns back around to face the stove. He’s being absolutely ridiculous. Sazed is probably in jail by now– someone must have heard Fisher’s song and turned him in. It’s been a thought that has been cycling through Taako’s head for days now, but each time it comes around it’s never as comforting as the last.

With a sick feeling of dread, Taako pulls a spatula from a vase next to the stove. He has to force himself to not check it for magic, or lick it to see if it’s poisoned or tampered with. (Who would poison a damn spatula?)

He pushes the eggs in the pan from three feet away. Nothing.

What did he expect, anyway?

The eggs sizzle and he blinks and there’s lights on him, a cheering crowd, a hand on his hip, a smile on his face–

Why was this happening  _now_?

He was  _good_ , he was fine, he wasn’t in the wrong!

But he should have noticed, right? He was so sure it was the right ingredient. He was so confident his surroundings were always going to be  _his_ , that his space could never be tampered with.

He was wrong. He was so terribly, terribly wrong. No matter how terrible he was, or no matter how much he drew himself in or wore his heart on his sleeves, he was not and is not in control of what happened or happens to him at any point in time.

He  _needs_  to check the eggs.

With a shaking hand, Taako drops the spatula.

It makes a loud noise on the tile floor and Taako jumps. His mind switches tracks. Loud noises were never good, especially in the wagon, and–

And he’s  _not in the wagon_.

He should be.

He should be watching those people die. He should be creating a relic on the deck of the Starblaster, making a weapon that would destroy so many lives. He was definitely in the wrong for that one.

He should be… with her.

With a tremor of fear, he notices that he can’t recall her name– it’s likely because it’s so early in the morning and he’s freaking out but  _still_. Immediately he starts to go through a line of  _things he knows_  in his head– he can’t lose her again. He can’t. His thoughts are messy and quick but he wants them to be.

She’s his sister, his twin, his everything, his second half, and she’s got blonde hair (sometimes) and she laughs like sunshine–

(When was Sazed coming home? Taako had upset him, so he left the house earlier than he normally did, and now he’s going to be drunk–)

She wears heels when she can, she is brilliant at making cakes–

(Should Taako put on his perfume– the one that Sazed likes?)

She is so incredibly amazing at magic, and in the IPRE training days she never needed to study–

And… Sazed isn’t coming home.

Because Kravitz is in the other room.

Taako stops as he steps on the spatula in a daze, the slight pain making his surroundings come back into focus. Kravitz is in the other room, so is Angus, and… and Lup is somewhere. Lup. That’s her name. Gods, he remembers. But where is she?

He doesn’t know. He has to know. He usually knows.

Did he forget this, too?

His heart pounding, he stares absently at the eggs. They’re half scrambled and ruined and they smell terrible. They’re starting to burn.

(Why couldn’t he just cook eggs? Why couldn’t he just be okay?)

He picks up the spatula with numb fingers and for a few moments he can only look at it. Then, suddenly and quickly, he pushes the eggs in the pan.

The spatula is dirty from being on the floor and being stepped on. But he knows no one is going to eat these eggs anyway.

They’re poisoned, and so is he.

He presses a hand to his mouth and slides down the cabinet to sit on the floor, the spatula gripped tightly in his other hand. He can only stare up at the pan, smelling the eggs get worse and worse as time goes and he does nothing.

Taako just wants Lup. Like a primal force driving him all he can think about is her– her name, her face, her comfort, everything about her. He needs her to be there. He needs to know where she is.

But she isn’t there. Taako has no idea where Lup is, in that moment, and despite this he cannot bring himself to move.

He starts to cry. Shaking sobs slip through his fingers and he draws his knees to his chest.

“ _Lup_.” He whispers. It’s a call for help– he needs her there, he can’t do this alone. He  _needs_  his sister. “Lup, p- _please_ –”

She’s not coming. She’s not going to come. She can’t hear him, not where she is.

Tears are coming down his face in a steady stream and he tries to muffle his cries the best he can but he’s just so ready to break and ready to give in.

“I give up,” He says, and it results in another sob, heavy and dense with emotion and filled with jumbled words. “I– That’s it, I-I’m done, I can’t– I can’t do this, I’m so– I’m fucking  _sorry_ – I’m so sorry–”

(He repeats it like a mantra, like it’ll make him feel better.)

The eggs smell so bad. They’re burned, probably. He fucked that up, too.

He was in the wrong for  _everything_. Creating a fucking relic, letting Lup slip away, not finding her, not remembering sooner, fucking up the ingredients, pushing away everyone, and– and that  _stupid_  show of his that ruined his life.

He… In that coach, he had it  _so good_. He was dumb, he was oblivious, he was weak, and he was  _safe_.

And Sazed…

Sazed wouldn’t have let him get like this.

Sazed would have hit him already. He would have shaken him from dissociation, or from panic, and he would have grabbed the spatula from him, or–

Or his hand would touch his shoulder–

“Taako–” He’d say–

(But it wouldn’t be that soft. Normally he yells.)

He’s… he’s doing it weird this time. He’s being nice. He’s being really nice, and Taako’s just sitting here on the ground and crying.

“I–I’m so s-sorry–” Taako hiccups between sobs, because Sazed is suddenly stumbling through the kitchen and turning off the stove and he shouldn’t have to be cleaning up  _his_  mistakes. Taako should be up there, fixing his own faults– saying sorry, apologizing to everyone–

But Sazed is moving the eggs off the hot stove. He’s nearly collapsing to sit in front of Taako and he’s calling his name.

His voice isn’t that rough tonight. He doesn’t smell like he’s been drinking.

“Taako? Taako are– what– can you speak to me, please?”

He can’t. He can’t say what’s happened or he’ll be yelled at and he’s already such a mess already. He doesn’t want to say no because he’ll just make it  _worse_  but he– he was  _spoken to_ – and so he opens his mouth–

“I–  _Lup_.”

He doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t know who’s talking to him. But he knows Lup.

“I– I– I want  _Lup_ – I’m so sorry, Lup I’m  _sorry_ –I need her–”

He’s not making sense, and the eggs are probably burned, and Sazed doesn’t know what to say and he’s quiet for so long. Taako doesn’t know why he’s still here– why he hasn’t left or started yelling.

“Taako, I’m sorry, I can’t– I don’t know where she is, I’m so sorry, love.”

It’s the wrong choice of words–

_What if she’s just gone?_

– and Taako remembers that he is alone.

He flings himself forward and into the unexpecting arms in front of him.

(Sazed never liked it when Taako touched him first. But Taako needs this. He needs  _something_. He’ll take whatever comes after.)

He doesn’t really know who it is. He won’t know until morning, when he wakes up on the kitchen floor with loose arms around him and a horrible, sickening sense of guilt and shame.

He’ll remember, only then, who kissed his forehead and rubbed his back and held him and waited out his sobs. He’ll remember who it was that promised him so many times that they’d see Lup in the morning, that she was safe with Barry, does Taako remember Barry? Yes? That’s good– they’ll be there, in the morning, he promises. He’ll remember who sleepily reassured him so many times, who told him that he didn’t have to be sorry for anything, that he was loved and perfect how he was and that he didn’t have to apologize for feeling this way.

He’ll remember who it was in the morning because Kravitz will wake up on the kitchen floor as Taako does his dishes and clears away the eggs. He’ll struggle to stand and lean against the counter, his legs still unstable but just a little better than yesterday.

Taako will try to smile and pretend, but he won’t be successful.

He’ll let Kravitz catch his sleeve and pull him in close. He’ll feel Kravitz kiss his hair and he’ll nod when Kravitz asks, quiet and full of love, if he’s okay.

And he’ll feel the horrible, resonating hollow feeling in his gut when he finally accepts that something deep and important in himself has been shattered.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3, 2, 1, Let’s Go!  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IEsdTqfoOc4

****

There’s color.

Bursting, blinding, brilliant color that floods his vision. It slips through the cracks in his head and it makes every other sense dull in comparison.

There’s music.

Quick, staccato, seemingly senseless music that guides him. It’s messy and it’s hastily played, and with each passing step it grows loud.

_Get it._

And Kravitz is running.

He’s going as fast as he can, moving with a blind sprint towards the music. Cold air is flooding his lungs and burning him. His coat flaps behind him and wraps around his legs and he sheds it, somehow knowing it’ll wait for him until he recalls it. It’s customary to wear for his jobs, but this hunt is different.

His scythe, large and imposing and weightless, is drawn and pressed against his back. The cold metal stings and he wants to appreciate it but he  _can’t_.

Kravitz can only feel, think, and do one thing in this moment. He can do what he was designed to do. Like a machine he runs, hurls over what he can, floats himself over what he can’t.

He’s got a job to do. He’s got a contract to complete, and all of the energy built up inside of him from so many days of not seeing, not  _moving_  when his soul  _begged_  him to do its purpose– it seethes out of him and drives him forward like nothing else.

It makes him deaf to the shouts behind him and to the spells being shot from all angles to stop him. He dodges them and ignores the hands on his shoulders and the other bodies checking his. Someone yells his name and though he distantly hears it, he cannot pause or stop.

He has no thoughts. He has no reasoning. There is a target, a bounty so high the Queen  _urges_  him that despite everything, despite the freshness of his soul and the fragility of it,  _he needs to go_.

Kravitz had dropped everything when he saw the soul.

He had seen no body around it, no presence, no capsule. In that moment there was nothing physical– no doorway, no furniture, and nobody behind him, calling his name.

There was  _him_ –

(Blue, quiet, still, placid, collected.)

And there was–

(Red, loud, buzzing, excitable, passionate.)

 _Her_.

It.

A soul.

_”Stop!”_

_”Kravitz–!”_

He is relentless; a force so powerful, so strong against her own light. He’s sure he can take this one.

The soul dashes through the halls, twisting occasionally to shoot spells behind it. They blast to the sides of him, making the building shake and groan. He ignores them all– after all, the soul wasn’t  _aiming_  for a hit. It was shouting at him, pleading for him to stop and  _think_.

He… he couldn’t.

He’d been so  _good_. So retained, so cautious around this soul, but something  _snapped_  and he couldn’t– he couldn’t let her  _go_.

The bounty was too much, and the Queen didn’t know the circumstances– or if she did, she didn’t care. She was punishing him, in a way– he wasn’t doing his job, so she would. She’d take control of his body, she’d remind him that he’s got a job, he’s a  _servant_ , and  _she_  gave him the option to say no before. But not now.

Now there is her word and her word only.

Kravitz doesn’t mind. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t hate it.

He doesn’t think of anything. He is driven by one force to  _run_  and that’s all he can do.

Kravitz doesn’t hear Taako behind him, screaming and shouting.

So he keeps going.

-

She doesn’t want to fight him, but she has to use all of her effort.

Kravitz is the  _Grim Reaper_ , animated by a god, and he’s using as much effort that he can.

She makes it to some sort of hanger before she knows she has to turn and fight. It’s like putting on a show to the people watching them– that’s what she tells herself.

In reality, she’s  _terrified_. She can’t hurt him, but he’s– he’s just–

He’s  _right there_!

She jumps back as he lunges forward with his scythe and it creates a horrible arc in the air. She can  _feel_  the static power emanating from him like a gust of wind. It’s not even magic– it’s godly might that pulses from him, right from his unseeing, narrow eyes and his bared teeth. She knows, and she doesn’t tell anyone, that whatever is happening is in godly control. This isn’t a spell, it’s not a trance, it’s something  _bigger_.

So she fights back.

She floats up, as far as she can, and he follows her in a leap. She doesn’t have a lot of room, not for what she wants to do or what she can do, so she holds her corporeal hands out and conjures flames from the tips of them.

He twists so his back faces the fire. She smells his flesh burning, and she can  _see_  it rip away at his shirt, but when he comes out of his defense his scythe is quick to follow through. It looks so heavy, and she underestimates it in speed.

It catches the front of her robes and tugs, tearing through the fabric as if it were air. The momentum jerks her to the side.

She hesitantly smiles and pants out, “Well, if you wanted me–”

He actually  _snarls_  and a wave of power crashes over her and physically moves her backwards– it’s misguided and not part of a spell, it’s just pure  _emotion_  and frustration– and she shuts up.

 _Shit_.

She tries to push herself back more and he just  _follows_ – she can’t shake him, and he’s quicker than she is. She conjures fireballs and shoots them at him, trying to slow him in his chase as they dance across the hanger’s length. He keeps advancing and it’s no longer fun– it had never been fun, not at all, but he’s not letting up and he’s set on her. If they keep this up, someone is going to die.

She needs a second to  _think_.

She starts to cast blink but he swings his scythe again, and this time it isn’t a clean hit or a singular hit.

He swings it forward and she dodges but he keeps  _going_ – his momentum flings the scythe around and behind him, it arches to the left and to the right and  _everywhere_. It goes and he follows it, twisting and twirling with where it wanders.

He arches it up and she panics and summons her flame blade. It materializes not a second later than he tries to land his blow. Their blades crash together with an explosion of fire and raw power.

She looks up at him from under her raised sword. His scythe is pressed into it and the force is pushing her down towards the ground– she tries to stay, she tries to hold her ground, but she knows she can’t.

There’s a moment where they stare at each other. It’s quiet.

“ _You are coming with me_ ,” The Raven Queen says, through Kravitz’s mouth, and Lup jerks her body out from under the scythe and runs.

-

Kravitz’s swing cuts through the empty air in front of him. He was  _so close_.

He doesn’t take the time to righten himself before he’s following it towards the floor.

The soul lands and its form skids back a few steps, fire flaring from where its form.

_Get it back here._

Kravitz lands and darkness billows around his form.

_Get it._

“Listen, whatever I–”

Kravitz rushes forward and his scythe swings of its own accord. The soul cuts itself off and tries to hit him with a flame ball to block his path.

He doesn’t feel the flames hit his body or catch his hair. He runs directly through the fire, the scythe slashing through the heat and damage. Scorch marks stain the floor. He tries to hit the soul in another dangerous arc but it dodges again– he’s so  _close_  but it keeps slipping from his grasp.

The Queen’s presence courses through his body just then, strengthening his arms and his chest. She pushes his soul out of the way and takes control of his body.

She’s furious. She’s never done this before.

It’s not disgusting. It’s not pleasant. It’s not violating.

It’s his purpose to serve her. This is not in his control, in his rights, in his contract, in his wills or wants or conditions.

“Stop it! Kravitz!”

The Queen senses something hurtling towards Kravitz and she jerks his body out of the way and to the side as a black tendril appears to his right.

She looks at the soul that shot the spell for just a moment. This soul is not her concern. There was a bounty on this soul previously, she remembers, but it has been since cleared. She pays it no mind.

She tries to swing at the target again but the tendril comes back around before she can. It tries to wrap around this form and she leaps onto it before it can reach and runs the length of it, pushing herself off the end to slash at the soul once more.

It evades the Queen and she knows that this just won’t do.

She drops her scythe and disappears.

-

Lup doesn’t know what happened– one moment Kravitz was there, then he  _wasn’t_.

It’s quiet in the hanger as people stare, horrified and in awe of what took place before them. Taako stands a few feet in from the door to the hall, his wand drawn out in his shaking hand.

Lup stands unsteadily, shaken by the suddenness of it all. She takes three deep breaths, and Kravitz doesn’t appear again.

Then, suddenly, there is pain.

She looks to Taako and can see the pure panic in his eyes for only a second before her heart  _explodes_.

It’s not just her heart, though. It’s  _everything_  in her essence; her hands, her body, her head, her chest. They all burst with a pain like fire, shocking her and running around her like a storm. It draws her breath away and she gasps, crumbling to the floor. Taako starts running and she just starts screaming.

Something is holding her tightly, suffocating her and pressing her like clay. The traces of fire on her hands disappear and she feels weak and sick.

The world pulses around her and she presses her forehead to the ground and just  _screams_  in pain. She’s died so many times, but it’s never felt like  _this_  before.

Hands grab at her shoulders and a desperate, hoarse voice yells at her but she can’t really hear anything– she can’t hear herself, even.

The pain pushes her and claws at her, and she thinks that maybe  _this is it_ –

And then it’s gone.

Lup takes shaking, gasping breaths. The world is so quiet around her.

She looks up into the eyes of her brother. She looks at his face, so distraught and scared and shaken.

“I– I don’t– I don’t know–”

There’s a clear  _snap_  that runs through her body.

Taako screams her name as Lup collapses to the floor.


	17. Chapter 17

Taako’s glamour had been failing.

Kravitz didn’t notice, of course. He was still blind– it had been so long and he  _still_  couldn’t see. Or– or not  _completely_ , anyway. Apparently he could see “rough shapes”  and colors (whatever that meant).

Luckily the feeling in his legs was coming back, though. He could stumble through the living room and bedroom, and that was enough for both of them. Though he didn’t know where he was going, the option to get up and move was still  _there_ , and that seemed to calm them.

Taako wanted Kravitz feeling in prime shape as soon as possible– that wasn’t even debatable.

But… he was terrified for when Kravitz would see his face again.

Kravitz had  _said_  there was no change, and that he looked perfect, but Taako saw it. It was  _right there_ , all over his face. His sunken eyes, his ratty hair, his lack of freckles– how could no one see? It was a tarnish on who he was and on his very being.

They were all lying to him to make him feel better. Kravitz and Lup and Magnus and Barry– they all told him that he looked perfect because they didn’t want him to be more upset than he was. That must have been it.

And, in all honesty, Taako didn’t so much mind the lying. He and Kravitz didn’t talk about when Taako had his little  _moment_  in the kitchen. They stuck to eating toast and microwave meals and that was fine by Taako. He knew Kravitz would bring it up at some point, but until then he’d try to avoid it as much as possible.

Things just hadn’t been going great for Taako– not mentally, anyway. And he was pissed about it.

There was  _no reason_  for this nonsense.

Kravitz was back and slowly getting better. Lup was popping in every other hour. Magnus said he didn’t mind Taako taking all the time he needed in his apartment– he’d already taken up residency in his. Angus would hang around for most of the day. And, as the cherry-topper to the cake, Taako hadn’t yet seen or talked to Lucretia.

So why’d he feel like this?

He cast the glamour charm again and there was  _still_  no change.

Taako heard Kravitz call from the other room, asking where he was. His dependency on Taako was still just a little weird. Not unpleasant, just weird.

“Coming!”

He cast it again. And again. And again.

It’s not like anyone would  _see_  him. His boyfriend was literally blind.

But he just  _can’t_  look like this.

Can he turn all the mirrors around in Magnus’s apartment? Sure, but he’d have to turn them back whenever someone came in, because then people would notice, and that’s not an option. He can’t handle any serious conversation– he won’t be able to, not for a while, he knows. (Though he started to consider that it wasn’t so much that he  _couldn’t_ , it’s just that he doesn’t  _want_  to.)

What if he just…

Taako pinched at his cheek. Maybe if he just… if he maybe just didn’t–

No.  _No_.

He’s… he’s not going to be like that. Not again. He’s going to be selfish and say that he deserves better than being how he was.

-

Kravitz had been restless.

He’d been the ideal model for the word  _restless_  in the dictionary. To explain to children what the word means, teachers across the galaxy would show a picture of the Grim Reaper, lounging on a couch in the middle of the day.

Of course Kravitz had indulged in days (albeit always with Taako) where he had done nothing more strenuous than getting off the couch. In fact, he even  _enjoyed_  those days. There was nothing better to come to after a very stressful day of hunting than a comfortable couch and large blankets and an elf body in his arms. It was unnecessary for him, and it did take a while for him to get used to the idea of  _nothingness_  and the thought that he  _could_  just sit and  _exist_ for a little while.

The idea became more acceptable to him when he remembered that this was only a break. He still had things to do, he just wasn’t doing them  _at that moment_. He wasn’t sitting and doing nothing– he was sitting and waiting for the next job.

Not now, however.

He had a goal and a set end that made him feel the slightest bit better– to wait for the Queen’s okay– but it was more  _open_  than normal.

His “stay at home” days were orchestrated by Taako more often that not. They started with a very decided declaration that  _Taako wants to chill and do nothing_ , and ended when Taako got up to make breakfast or when Kravitz got called back to work.

This was not  _orchestrated_. They were not having a “lazy day”. Kravitz and Taako were  _existing_ , and that was all.

It was more difficult than Kravitz thought it would be.

The first two days back he  _wanted_  to lay on the couch with Taako, and he  _wanted_  to be surrounded by that warmth and comfort.

Of course, he wouldn’t object to that now. But it wasn’t on his list of things to do– nothing was.

What did mortals do during times like these?

Kravitz just… slept, mostly. He had no ideas on what to do.

He was exhausted, and having the Queen play with his soul was like an itch he couldn’t scratch. Sleeping was quick, easy, and ate up time. And as a bonus, sometimes when he would wake up, some part of him would be working again. It was always a gamble.

Though at some point he  _wasn’t_  so tired.

Taako would stay with him through most of the day, but a lot of the time he’d get up to… well, he’d do  _something_. Taako was content with doing nothing and having no rules– Kravitz really didn’t blame him at all– so he just stayed inside the apartment and  _did stuff_. Cleaned, or read, or… or  _something_.

And Kravitz would be left in the dark.

He  _needed_  something to do, or something to look forward to, or even something new to touch.

He ran his hands through his hair. He tapped his fingers on the couch. He hummed under his breath. He drew patterns on his leg. Nothing worked.

Maybe if he could  _see_  things would be easier. He could read, or… or do  _something_ – he’d even  _clean_  if it came down to it. He just needed something to  _do_. That morning he had gained some vision– just splats of color and general movement was perceptible. It was better than nothing, but only barely. Kravitz could do nothing with this.

As the Queen continued to polish his soul, he grew more and more uncomfortable. He  _had_  to get back to his work. His soul told him to, but his soul also wasn’t  _ready_. With each urge he felt he could also feel the Queen, holding him back and whispering affirmations.

Today had been more rough than the other days.

Lup was becoming more of a problem than she had been. Every time she entered the room previously he’d be able to see her litch soul and the urge to rush to collect her would jerk and tear at his soul. Barry was also a problem, but he wasn’t around as much as Lup was.

The Queen held Kravitz back, but only because he wasn’t ready. Kravitz didn’t know what was going to happen when he was back to work and the Queen wouldn’t hold him. She didn’t know about Lup– she cleared Merle, Magnus, and Taako, but not her. In fact, she probably didn’t know about Lucretia, Davenport, or Barry, either. Kravitz didn’t know how to tell her before things were too late. He hadn’t tried using any magic, or even drawing his weapon, and he had a feeling it wouldn’t work anyway. Trying to seek counsel with the Queen wasn’t going to work, too. He was too drained and the Queen existed… well, he didn’t know  _where_  she was. But she wouldn’t appear where she normally did, he knew that much.

Kravitz saw Taako– or, the general shape of him– move to the living room. Taako didn’t know about this. He didn’t know about anything.

He… he should tell him.

“Taako, I–”

“Ugh, what  _Gods-awful_  thing do you have on? I know you can’t see, but  _please_ , I’m suffering.”  
But things had been so fragile.

Kravitz could handle this. He could and he would. Taako didn’t need to worry more.

-

A week after he had woken up, Kravitz could see.

Lup got the news while waiting in line at Fantasy Costco (which had surprisingly sprung up into service immediately following the day of the battle) by an excited Angus. He had run into the store yelling for her and she had nearly dropped all of her groceries in surprise. (Constantly being on edge just wasn’t suiting her.)

She exited the line and doubled back around the store. She’d cook up something especially nice for dinner, then, in celebration.

-

Kravitz stood and the room swayed.

He sat back down.

Took a deep breath. Ran his fingers up and down his arm.

Taako sat next to him and the sensation of a  _presence_  and a dip in the mattress was a  _lot_.

“Krav, chill out, babe. It sucks, but…”

The rest of the words were lost to him. They were  _words_  but they didn’t connect. They were sounds in another language he didn’t think he’d ever learn.

He could  _hear_  Lup’s soul. She had gotten excited and now her soul was bright. He had made a mistake and, in his restlessness, paid attention to her for just a moment.

It wasn’t anywhere near him, and it wasn’t moving towards him, but he just  _had to do something_. His instinct was making her shine like a beacon miles away.

It was  _infuriating_.

Taako didn’t know. Kravitz couldn’t see his face but he was watching.

It had been an hour.

The Queen was working quickly on his soul now. She had seen Lup’s soul as well, and she wanted it badly. She’d noticed it on that first day and since then she had been only just holding onto him.

Kravitz didn’t have a lot of time. He  _had_  to get rid if this energy. He had to be thinking clearly, and right now he wasn’t.

“Krav?”

The Queen let something slip and he felt dark matter pool in between his fingers. He lifted his fingers and ran them over the couch cushions quickly.

He wasn’t sure why he called Taako into the room anymore.

Kravitz just needed to  _touch_  something. To breathe.

“You with me?”

He  _had_  to let Taako know. Kravitz opened his mouth but nothing came out but a deep exhale of air.

He closed his mouth. Clenched his jaw. Felt the bones run over each other.

“Hey, Krav, are you okay?”

No. He felt like drawing his scythe and tearing something apart. And that  _something_  was dangerously close to being Taako’s sister.

“Not– no. Taako, I don’t know what to  _do_.”

“What do you mean? In general, or…?”

He couldn’t answer that. He opened his mouth and nothing came out  _again_.

He stood again–

_Where would he go?_

– and sat back down.

There was a change and Kravitz looked to the door. Lup’s soul was coming closer and growing louder.

His own soul pulsated in his being. The Queen hastened.

“Taako, Lup–”

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say. “What  _about_  Lup?” Taako asked, now on edge.

“I–” He looked to his knees and spread his palms over them. His pants felt like nothing against his skin. “I’m– I’m really sorry, Taako, but– the Queen…”

_Give me a moment and you will be free. You will do you job._

He didn't  _want_  that. Or– or he did.

“Kravitz, can I touch you?”

“Please don’t.”

Was that what he wanted though? He wanted Taako to sit there and be an anchor, that was it– maybe something to tether him down.

“I’m– the Queen is– she wants me to…”

Another tug at his soul. She was almost done and he thought he had more time. He thought he had  _days_ , at least.

“Lup…?” There was a very long period of silence. “Oh.  _Oh_.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re  _not_  hurting her.” Taako said, as if it could be that simple. As if Kravitz could just do what Taako– hell, what they  _both_  wanted just because it was spoken.

“No– I don’t  _want_  to hurt her, Taako.” Kravitz snapped, more out of internal aggravation than anger at him. Lup was growing closer. Normally he could handle this.

Taako recoiled and Kravitz thought of, just for a moment, how this looked.

“No, okay– I’m sorry, it’s–” Kravitz tried to sit back and he crossed his legs, tapping his one foot. With every moment he could feel Lup getting closer and his soul getting more restless. But Taako didn’t need this. He didn’t need to worry about it and he didn’t need to see it. “It’ll be fine.” He could trust himself not to do this. This was a rough patch and he’d get through it.

“No, Krav– would you stop fucking lying to me, for two seconds?” Taako stood and Kravitz felt panic in his heart. Lying?

“I’m not  _lying_ –” He needed Taako to sit back down. When had he lied to Taako before?

“Well then tell me what to do!”

If he knew what to do, wouldn’t he have already  _done it_?

“I– I don’t  _know_. Things will be okay.”

Taako said something but in that moment Lup’s soul was suddenly a bit more clear than it had been. Kravitz’s eyes snapped to the door and he could  _see_  a pulse of red, now inside the building, drawing near.

He didn’t want this.

He begged the Queen, trying desperately to reach her, but he knew that she wouldn’t answer. She didn’t care to hear his pleas, not then. Maybe not ever. Maybe Taako and Merle and Magnus were the only exceptions. The Queen had heard the song, she  _knew_  about them– but a litch is a litch.

Rules are rules. Kravitz  _knows_  this.

Lup came closer. Kravitz stood. He was out of time.

“Kravitz, what are–”

The door opens and Kravitz wakes up in the void room.

-

Lup looks around and, to her surprise, sees that she’s not dead.

Not completely, anyway.

She’s in some sort of room and it's… it’s dark.

It’s very dark. It’s  _suffocatingly_  dark, and she’s been here before. The walls are dark and they move with a liquid splendor– it’s  _nothing_ , and she knows that if she tried to venture towards them she could never touch them.

It’s also very quiet, save for a ringing in her ears.

She had fought during the first time around. She had screamed and fired whatever she could. Her throat hurt for  _years_. Her nails were filed to nothing from scratching the intangible, her hair was thinning from every time she’d pull at it in desperation.

She doesn’t do that now.

She puts a hand to her mouth and stares, eyes wide, at the darkness around her. Her fingers shake and she doesn’t think of how she got  _here_ , or who was with her, or what had happened.

Lup wants a light, she wants a person, somebody,  _anybody_  but that wretched litch, she wants–

Lup wants out.  _Again_.

She’s here.  _Again_.

She finally looks around, her heart completely still, and something stops her in her tracks.

She's… she’s not alone. Not this time.

Standing with his back to her is Kravitz, and he’s staring dead into the eyes of the Raven Queen.

-

Lup doesn’t  _really_  know it’s the Raven Queen, but she can safely assume.

The throne, the beautiful and lavish outfit with bountiful feathers, the radiation of power from her– though, of course, the main giveaway is her head, which looks like the skull of a bird.

Lup hasn’t ever met a god before, not like this. The Raven Queen is beautiful and abstract– she’s a  _natural_  process and presence, and Lup has the faintest feeling of having seen her before because of this. Looking at her evokes a feeling of ease– Lup is lost, and she’s afraid, but she feels as though she’s safer the closer she is to the Queen.

Physically looking at her is where her comfort stops.

The Queen is  _cold_ , and Lup can sense it from where she kneels on the floor.

But when she stands, ethereal and flowing in her movements, she rushes towards Kravitz with an affection etched into her mask that makes Lup pause.

She sweeps forward and Kravitz watches her with cold, sharp eyes. It strikes Lup only then just who, exactly, Kravitz is.

“Kravitz, how are you feeling?” She asks and her voice is echoing off of nothing.

“I want to make a deal.”

Lup sits up. The Queen is silent.

It’s not the Queen that’s cold, Lup realizes. It’s Kravitz. His shoulders are square and taught and he doesn’t kneel before her and he doesn’t take her hand that she offers. He looks at her with courage that Lup doesn’t possess in front of a god.

“A deal.” The Queen repeats.

Kravitz glances back at Lup. She stares at him, transfixed, unaware that it’s the first time she’s been acknowledged in this room.

His gaze is guilty. It’s  _sad_. It’s an apology.

He says nothing to her and turns back to the Queen, and that’s when Lup gets it.

She struggles to stand but there’s something holding her down– some sort of bond she can’t see and can’t win against. She feels her energy and her form fill these bonds, stretching them to their limits, but she can’t win against them.

_No, no no, no no no–_

“ _Kravitz!_ ” She screams at him but he doesn’t turn. No one does.

There’s a clear barrier between her and the powers before her. She watches, silently, as Kravitz and the Queen strike a deal.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to make a deal!

“Four lives for mine.” **  
**

“Absolutely not.” The Queen says immediately, and then she laughs. It’s ethereal and it doesn’t have a _sound_ – it’s more like a vibration through the room. It shakes Lup and she feels incredibly unnerved. Kravitz is playing in dangerous territory and everyone knows it.

The Queen turns and dissolves, reappearing in her chair in a flurry of feathers. She leans forward with a less than human-like interest and Kravitz does not flinch. “Where is this coming from?”

“I’m  _not_  hunting Lup Taaco, Drew Davenport, Barry Bluejeans, or Lucretia” He says with a cold finality. He looks like a soldier and it’s not– it’s not  _him_. This isn’t the Kravitz that Lup (albeit vaguely) knows. Lup’s heart quickens with the idea that perhaps she’s not supposed to see this.

The Raven Queen smiles at Kravitz– her mask cracks and flickers with the image of a grin, like she’s watching a child demand some extravagance. She reguards him with amusement for a while before she whispers, “You’ve grown.”

“Then–”

“But, regardless,” She interrupts, her smile fading, “You have a job.”

“I  _know_ –”

“Do you remember the qualifications of your job?”

“Of course, my Queen, but–”

“Then you must do it. You understand why this is pointless.”

There’s silence as Kravitz looks at her and she stares back. They’re at an impasse, and things are quiet.

The realization hits Lup that she might not make it out of this one.

“You wouldn’t trade my life for four?” Kravitz asks, but even Lup knows it’s a reach.

“Kravitz, you are my reaper. The work you do is far more valuable than their lives.” She says, then sighs with a smile. “It is not my fault  _you_  grew too close to these mortals.”

“This is not about me.” Kravitz snaps, and the Queen smiles again. This time, however, there’s a warning.

“And who is it about?”

And she stands.

“Is it about Taako, the elf you’ve fallen for? Is it about the family you’ve found– the family  _you’re not supposed to be in?_  Is it about their  _feelings_? About how upset they’d be?”

And suddenly she’s standing before Kravitz, looking up at him with a stare that builds her power. “Your job, Kravitz, does not involve who we want to live or who we want to die. Do I have to remind you of this?

I have warned you about being involved, but I have let you anyway. I thought you were being  _cautious_ , Kravitz.”

He says nothing to her, only a curt, “ _I am here to make a deal_.”

The Queen’s eyes narrow. “Stubborn, aren’t you?”

“I refuse to collect them.”

_“You don’t have a choice.”_

Kravitz’s back suddenly tenses more and his hands grasp at the fabric on his pants. His eyes close for a few moments but when he looks up his gaze is still steadfast. He takes a breath that shakes.

“ _Kravitz!_ ” Lup calls again– she knows he can’t hear her, but she can’t bear sitting and watching this.

“Then let me make you a deal.” He says, jaw clenched, as if Lup hadn’t spoken.

“Fine.” She spits and turns back to her throne, settling on it with the clear intention of waiting. As soon as she turned away from him, Kravitz had taken another breath.

The Queen sits on her throne and hisses, “Barter.”

“So you won’t take my life?” Kravitz asks, and he’s either trying to confirm this or he’s trying to stall.

“Allow me to ask you something. Do you really find yourself that expendable to them? Do you really think they’d be happy with this decision you’re trying to make?”

“Yes.”

There’s no hesitation. Lup swears that, for a second, his eyes go to her.

“W-well– I’m– Taako needs them. I can’t let this happen to him.”

“You needed your brother.”

-

She says it so  _casually_. Like it’s not such a taboo subject, or something to avoid. And to her maybe it is– maybe she doesn’t feel a thing to whoever this person was. It’s natural for people to die, and if Lup’s gained anything from listening to this exchange, it’s that fate is decided and not biased.

Maybe she doesn’t feel for this person. But the Queen isn’t just throwing them into this mix as casually as she sounds.

She hits a string in Kravitz.

“Keep him out of this.” He says, too loud and too heated. It’s what she wanted to hear.

“You needed him.”

“That was  _not_  my fate. You told me so yourself.”

“Life has an order, and you’ve always known this. That was  _his_  fate. You didn’t beg for your brother or your parents. They died and  _life went on_. These things happen to everyone, no matter how they are.” She pauses. “Your self-sacrifice is surprising, Kravitz, but I reject your offer. You are too useful to me.”

Kravitz is silent as he thinks– Lup could tell that  _he_  was the only weight he had against her. It’s… it’s concerning, actually, that he thinks like this. She wonders if Taako knows.

“Make them useful. Have them work for you in exchange for their lives.”

Well that’s… different.

Lup sits up at the same time as the Queen, both of their eyes on Kravitz. What does he mean, work?

“You are suggesting I make them  _reapers_?”

_Oh fuck._

“Hey, hold on.” Lup calls from where she is, struggling once more at her bonds. She wants to live, of course, but doesn’t  _she_  get a say in this? Or– or doesn’t she get to  _know_  what this means? “I should think that–”

For the first time since waking up in this room, the Raven Queen looks at Lup.

The words on her lips falter and die as she stares, transfixed, at the entity before her. The Queen– the  _Raven Queen_ – is looking at her, regarding her with such a calculating look that Lup wishes she hadn’t spoken at all.

“You are right, my dear.” The Queen says, and she’s  _addressing Lup_ , and Lup’s  _talking to her_. “Come forth.”

The bonds holding her disappear and Lup stares dumbly at the Queen for a few moments before noticing.

She has to get up and barter for her life with the Raven Queen.

 _Fuck_.

It she lives through this, she’s going to have the most  _wicked_  story to tell.

Lup tries to stand but something– maybe it was the bonds, maybe it was the terror that kept her heart racing– drags her back down and makes her knees weak. She stumbles but a hand catches her arm before she can fall.

Lup looks up at Kravitz.

They both stare at each other, fixed in time. His face is nearly unreadable and his hands are frigid.

“I’m so sorry.” Kravitz whispers, and Lup, despite everything, smiles.

It’s less than ideal that Kravitz technically killed her. And they’re not in a great place, and Lup doesn’t know how she’s going to get out of this one, or if she’s even able to. She doesn’t know how time is passing, she doesn’t know what her brother is doing in the world. She’s  _terrified_  of this outcome– of coming  _so close_  to living normally, of getting a taste of the world again just to have it ripped away by the man before her. She  _gets it_ , she really does, and so she doesn’t blame Kravitz. But she’s trying very hard to not harbor ill feelings to him.

Lup smiles because it’s the only thing she  _can_  do.

“Just remind me not to get on your bad side.” Lup whispers back. Kravitz just continues to look at her sadly.

Lup stands, leaning heavily on him, but when she looks up they’ve somehow moved to just a few feet in front of the Queen. Regardless she keeps her grip on his arm and he places a light, careful hand on her back. The temperature of said hand almost makes her jolt forward, but past the initial shock it’s oddly comforting.

Her odds aren’t improving, but at least she’s not alone.

“Kravitz is suggesting I make you, Davenport, Lucretia, and Barry reapers.” The Queen says, her eyes shifting between the two of them. “I hardly think it’s fair to make this decision for them.”

“I can speak for Barry.” Lup says immediately. She doesn’t like this idea– she really  _can’t_  speak for him as much as she can speak for anyone else– but she doesn’t want what happened to her to happen to  _them_. She’d rather not have Kravitz hunt her entire family down. And if she can convince Barry to become a litch with her, what’s one more adventure?

The Queen’s gaze fixes to Lup and it’s hard to keep her breath. “No, you can’t.”

“He wouldn’t mind.” She says, and the hand on her back applies a bit more pressure. Lup’s eyes flicker to Kravitz, but he’s staring fixedly at the Queen.

“The job of a reaper is not an  _easy_  or carefree one. It’s an eternal commitment and you must make decisions–” She looks pointedly at Kravitz for a moment, “–that you may not be willing to.”

“That’s life.”

The Queen cocks her head and her mask curls to a grin. “You’re strong.”

“Barry is stronger.” Lup is quick to rebuttal.

“Two litches as reapers for their souls.” Kravitz suddenly proposes, his voice strong and decisive. His words echo eerily.

This prompts silence from the Queen and Lup, for the first time, feels hope.

“Intriguing.” The Queen eventually murmurs, leaning farther back in her throne. Lup’s hand tightens around Kravitz’s arm. They’re  _so close_ , so precariously perched. If this deal goes south, then Lup’s  _dead_ , end of story. She’s already here, too.

“I will train them,” Kravitz continues, “I’ll show them what to do, and I’ll lead them. They can assist me in jobs and, eventually, take on their own bounties.”

“These are not your souls to barter.”

“I’m bartering their bounty. I will  _make_  them reapers and, if they fail as reapers or refuse, I’ll take them in. They’ll already be in my watch.”

Lup doesn’t think of what this means or the particulars. The Queen is taking their bait and that’s what she focuses on. She’ll deal with technicalities later– for right now, she’s keeping her life in exchange for a job, and that’s good enough.

“You’ve gotten smarter over these years, Kravitz.” The Queen smiles at him after a few moments.

Lup can’t stop the grin that splits her face when the Queen stands and extends a black gloved hand.

“Two litch souls as reapers in exchange for four cleared bounties.”

Kravitz extends his hand and stares into the Queen’s eyes as they shake.

-

The hanger is quiet when Lup and Kravitz reappear.

Time must have not passed as quickly as it felt. When the scene comes into view Taako is on the floor and his arms are around Barry, who looks at the floor with a completely blank stare. The hanger, besides those two, is completely empty.

Taako and Barry don’t hear them appear. But when Lup takes her first stumbling steps away from Kravitz, her eyes already beading with tears, Barry is the first to look up. Taako noticies only after Barry shakes his shoulders and stands not a second later.

Taako calls her name through breathless lips.

Barry runs forward and clashes against Lup and engulfs her in a hug the best he can, laughing through his own sobs. She grips the back of his shirt and opens her arms wider when she sees Taako bolt towards them. Barry asks what happened and Lup shakes her head and whispers,  _We’ll talk later. Things will be okay_. Taako says nothing. She repeats the last sentence like a mantra.

They stand there in the empty hanger for a long time, relishing in each other and breathing out anxieties ingrained in all of them from so long ago.

Lup doesn’t notice Kravitz leaving. No one does.

-

Kravitz isn’t sure where to go.

His mind is blank as he drifts through space, and it’s to his vague surprise that he steps out of his portal and finds himself in Taako’s apartment.

He couldn’t stay around for the heartfelt reunion. He didn’t belong there.

So he must have thought of the only other place he belonged.

Kravitz exhales slowly, looking around the apartment. It had been a while since he last set foot in this place– it feels as though a lifetime had passed. It may as well have, too. There’s a wall, invisible but almost  _tangible_ , that separates him from the room. Some other Kravitz had been here last, but certainly not  _him_.

He shrugs off his jacket, tossing it to the armchair closest to him. It slumps to the floor and he doesn’t bother to fix it.

He walks through the apartment in a daze that he must have slipped into without noticing. Dust is settled on some of the surfaces and he runs his fingers over a bookshelf, lifting his hand to see gray stains.

He doesn’t feel anything but the guilt that has settled in his stomach, rotting away whatever strength he had left.

“Kravitz?”

A voice sounds from the kitchen– from another room, or maybe another world, Kravitz can’t tell.

He… he can’t tell much of anything right now, in fact.

“Hey, I’m glad you’re feeling okay! If you and Taako are done, uh–

Uh–

Hey, are you okay?”

Somehow time passes.

Somehow Kravitz ends up sitting on a couch, staring into a bright fire that warms the room but not him.

Maybe there’s a blanket around his shoulders, heavy and thick, that he might he able to barely feel. Maybe it anchors him.

Maybe he’s told that he’ll be okay.  _These things happen. Ride it out, buddy_.

Maybe there’s a cup of tea that makes his fingertips red with heat.

Maybe someone checks up on him every so often– someone who dips the couch cushions down when they decide to settle on the opposite end with a book.

Maybe when it grows dark outside, someone finally gently takes the cold cup from his hands and sets it on the table.

He wouldn’t know. He doesn’t feel much.

Doesn’t hear much besides the souls  _begging_  him to live because their friends, their families, their  _children need them_.

Doesn’t smell much besides the spilled blood, the dark magic in the air.

Doesn’t see much besides the gray in the room, overlapping everything.

(He’s condemned  _so many_  souls before.

Why are these two so different?)


	19. Chapter 19

The rest of the day was  _hesitant_.

Barry, Lup, and Taako walked on eggshells. No one said a word about what happened. No one asked about Kravitz. They went back to Magnus’s apartment and stayed there.

They weren’t afraid of  _each other_. It was life, it seemed, that terrified them. The fragility of  _trust_  and love was shaken but life itself seemed to be shattered. The illusion of security of  _things continuing_  was gone.

They could not be sure of anything anymore. Not really.

Taako didn’t speak. He watched Lup and sometimes he looked to the floor, lost in thought.

Barry read. A page turned every five minutes.

Lup waited, though she didn’t really know what for.

Maybe a chance to talk about what happened. Maybe she waited for Taako to say something– or Barry– or  _anyone_. Maybe she waited for Kravitz to appear again, disrupting life and ripping her and Barry from the room to start their new jobs.

She takes a breath and starts to speak and realizes she was waiting for herself.

“So… our bounties are clear.”

Immediately Barry looks up from his book. He hadn’t really been reading. “What?”

Lup looks at her corporeal hands. She doesn’t know how to explain what she saw. “We– uh– Barry, you and me and Luce and Davenport– we’re, um, good. We’re good with the Raven Queen.”

Taako is quiet, but Barry’s face splits into a wide grin when he realizes what she means. “You met the Raven Queen? And  _cleared us_?”

“Well… yeah.” She  _was_  excited to tell this story, but the more she says the more the fire fades in her heart. It’s not a story, not really– it’s how things  _are_. And it’s not good. She has  _no idea_  what she has been signed up for, and now she’s got Barry in it, too.

“Babe! That’s fucking amazing!” Barry says, and he’s looking at her with such love and excitement that it almost hurts to see. She smiles back hesitantly.

“I– I guess.” On simplistic terms, it  _is_  amazing. They don’t have to die now. “But we– um, it was an exchange. We’re, uh, reapers now.”

She leaves out the fact that it wasn’t actually  _her_  that came up with the idea, that she had little part in it, and it wasn’t even her trade.

“I don’t know  _exactly_  what it means, but it can’t be hard, right?”

She looks at the two of them, expecting the shocked looks on their faces. Taako catches her eye.

“We’re– it’s not like becoming a litch.” She says quickly, and when Taako doesn’t move she reaches out and tries to take his hand the best she can. “There’s no  _process_ , and– well, it’s like we’ve got jobs. Normal people jobs. Nine to five. Only difference is we work for the Raven Queen, which is pretty much the best life insurance ever.”

Taako searches her face, his eyes narrowed and suspicious. She wonders if he can tell that she is truly making this up as she goes.

“I… I’m sure that sounds nice when you put it that way, but…” Barry shifts in his seat uncomfortably and sighs. “Lup, there’s– we don’t know what we’re doing, there’s a  _lot_  of… Did the Queen give you anything? When do we start– Lup, it’s nice we get to live and all, but what are we  _doing_?”

“I, uh,” She looks away from Taako. She doesn’t know how he stands. “Um, Kravitz is going to teach us.”

“ _Kravitz_?” Taako finally says, and his voice is dripping with venom.

“Kravitz?” Barry asks at the same time, with slightly less bite.

“Yeah. Kravitz.”

No one says a word.

“He was just doing his job.” She snaps, looking at the two of them and daring them to say otherwise.

“He could have told me.” Taako mumbles, and Lup doesn’t have a proper answer to that.

“He was actually the one to suggest we become reapers.  _He_  made the deal. Technically our souls weren’t cleared, just our contract.” Lup pauses, watching Taako take things in. When he doesn’t say anything, just continues to glare, she adds, “He did it for you, dumbo.”

“Just like he killed you, yeah? Was that  _for me_? Did I get to fucking see  _that_  because he wanted me to?” He crosses his arms stubbornly, and it’s quite amazing to Lup how easily he’s flipping on Kravitz. “How  _fucking_  considerate of him.”

“It…” Barry carefully speaks up, looking at Taako with a softness Lup’s seen before. “Taako, it– that’s–”

“Don’t  _fucking_  tell me that’s how life works.” He rises to his feet and his hair is nearly bristling like an angry cats’. “He kills you, then brings you back just to tell me you–  _both_  of you–now have  _jobs_?”

“Taako, I don’t– it’s a job, it’s really not that–”

“Last time I let  _her_  out of my sight I didn’t see her for a  _decade_.”

Taako sits down quickly and bows his head, using the heel of his palm to angrily push at tears Lup can’t see. “And now I’m fucking crying.  _Again_.”

Oh.

“ _That’s_  what this is about?” Lup whispers.

“I-  _No_ –” He takes a deep breath but it shakes. “E-everything has been  _happening_. Krav dies and  _you_  die and you’re leaving  _again_ – and things are supposed to be  _over_. I did my fucking time.

And… and I’m  _tired_ , Lup. I’m so fucking tired.”

Lup is transparent on good days. That doesn’t stop her from moving forward and wrapping her arms around Taako.

“Hug my brother, Barry,” She whispers, but not a second later than the words are out of her mouth there’s arms around her and Taako.

“I  _promise_  things are done,” She tells her brother quietly, when his shaking resides. “I’ll still visit every day. Hell, Kravitz practically lives with you, yeah? You’re gonna get tired of me so quick.”

“That’s not gonna happen.” Taako mumbles into her robe, and Lup smiles.

“I’ll be with Barry and Kravitz. If  _anything_  goes wrong, they’ll know and they’ll tell you– and worse comes to worst, I’ve got a God on my side now.

Things will be okay. Things  _are_  okay.”

-

The morning comes all at once for Kravitz.

He blinks and there’s light streaming into the living room– Taako’s living room. He doesn’t know if he was asleep or just… what was it that Taako said it was called? Dissociated?

Kravitz sighs deeply, resting his head on the back of the couch. He brought himself here yesterday. Of course.

He needs to leave. He’s probably not even welcome here anymore.

What happened yesterday seems like a dream mostly because he wasn’t even conscious for it all, but he still feels  _shaky_  and uneven from it all. He still  _remembers_  it. He still knows that he’s condemned Lup and Barry to be reapers, and that he tried to– or he did?– kill Lup. And… and Taako watched.

He runs a hand through his hair, pointedly trying to ignore that he can’t feel it. There’s… there’s so much to this.

How does he train people to become reapers– people that have  _feelings_? The only reason he figures he was able to do his job so well was because he could feel nothing for the souls– now that he’s got feelings he wasn’t able to collect Barry and Lup, which means that his hesitance won’t only happen again, but it’ll strike those two as well.

And he… he didn’t tell Taako that he couldn’t have held himself back from Lup, though– to be fair– he thought he could. Even so he can tell it’s still going to be a problem.

Then there’s the issue that Taako watched him hunt his sister.

Kravitz has warned Taako against him  _so many times_. With a bitter smile he thinks that may have been the final time.

He takes another deep breath. Taako may not ever want to see him again. And he has to deal with that. But he… he can’t. The thought lodges in his head and sits heavily upon his brain. Maybe he’s just still checked out enough to not freak out about it.

_“Quiet, please– no, no, come here–”_

The door clicks open and Kravitz doesn’t have the energy to look up, but he can hear Magnus’ voice, and that’s another can of worms.

Kravitz needs to apologize to him. It’s a burden on him to show up as he did yesterday, and for Magnus to be as kind as he is– does he even know what Kravitz did? It’s not enough that Kravitz saved their souls, is it? Kravitz knows that everyone’s been so on edge since the day of the battle and he shook that fragility.

He just wants the week to be over. For the first time since he became a reaper, he just wants to go to work. To lose these feelings and run on autopilot, on his own terms, for a while. He doesn’t deserve it, of course, but who cares how selfish he is anymore?

“Oh, gosh–”

Kravitz is about to get up when something stops him.

A weight that he can barely feel until nails scrape at his pants and the slight pain breaks through some sort of barrier.

He looks down and, to his surprise, sees a dog.

But– it’s not really a dog, it’s more of a  _beast_. It’s scraggly and it looks banged up, and there’s scabs all over it’s white fur. It’s  _huge_ , and it’s standing on him and wagging its’ fluffy tail with energy and enthusiasm.

Kravitz had never really had an opinion of  _dogs_ , even when he was alive. Their farm never needed a dog, so there never was a dog– end of story, simple as that. Dogs weren’t pets, they were tools or nuisances in the streets.  As time went on the use of dogs evolved and they became more common as pets, and though Kravitz knew this he still never adopted one. He didn’t have a home to put it in and he only just remembered a few months ago that actual people need food– a dog wouldn’t be the greatest idea for him.

This was fine. He didn’t  _want_  a dog.

He still doesn’t want a dog. But here it is.

“Oh, you’re awake!” Magnus says, sheepishly following after the dog. He stands in the middle of the room, smiling as he watches Kravitz look blankly at the dog. “Um– sorry about him.”

Kravitz somehow manages to look around the dog, which has started to lick his face with excitement. Any previous guilt is pushed aside and put on hold. “Why….?”

Magnus empties his arms on the table– he had been carrying a box, full of what looked like dog toys. “I, uh– get  _down_ , Johann,” Magnus commands the dog–  _Johann_ – but it just looks up at Magnus and barks loudly. “No– no, shh,  _quiet_.”

Kravitz goes to push the dog off of him but before he can the thing just  _sits_ , right there in his lap, apparently comfortable. “Magnus, why do you have a dog on the moon?” He doesn’t know too much about the Bureau’s rules, or if they’ve even been upheld throughout everything that’s happened, but he does know that dogs are a strict  _no_.

“Well– I’m not gonna  _keep_  him here. It’s temporary.” Magnus says, now rummaging through the box. “But, um, his owners were killed. So someone gave him to me.”

Kravitz really doubts that’s the case. “And they named him Johann?”

The dog–  _Johann_ – looks at him, and despite himself Kravitz reaches up and pets his head. It’s amazing to him how  _happy_  this dog is.

“That was on me.” Magnus admits, finally pulling out what he’s looking for. It’s a leather collar, apparently well worn because it looks like it’s falling apart. A tag swings from it but the name is rusted over. He thoughtfully turns it over in his hands a few times. “Couldn’t think of anything better.”

Johann the dog lays down on Kravitz’s lap as if he thinks he’s some sort of animal small enough to do that.

It’s… it’s absurd and Kravitz is pretty sure he’s not allowed here. But he takes a cold hand and runs it through Johann’s fur. It’s just soft enough that he can feel it, and though it might be a ghost pain he thinks he might be able to feel Johann’s weight on him. It’s oddly grounding.

“So, um.” Magnus puts the collar back in the box and sits opposite of Kravitz, and it’s then that he remembers what he wanted to talk to Magnus about. “I heard about what happened yesterday.”

Oh, good. Right off the bat.

“I’m sorry, Magnus.” Kravitz says, but he can’t quite bring himself to look up from Johann.

“Worked out in the end though, didn’t it?” He spares a glance and Magnus is grinning uneasily.

“No. Not really.”

“Everyone’s alive, though.”

And living what quality of life?

“Did you hear about the deal?” He asks instead.

“Yeah. Sounds like you’ve got some understudies,” and then Magnus  _laughs_. “Good luck trying to teach them. They’re both stubborn as mules– Barry’s tricky, he doesn’t  _look_  it but he is.”

Kravitz thought he had Magnus pinned down to a certain personality. Magnus was loud, he was boisterous, he was optimistic– out of the people Kravitz knows, Magnus holds on of the strongest, brightest souls. Kravitz is not being proved wrong– Johann is an indicator for this as much as anything– but that just makes things more confusing.

“How– Magnus, this isn’t  _good_.” Kravitz shakes his head and his fingers pause over a rough patch in Johann’s fur. It’s caked with what looks like either blood or dirt, and absently he starts to detangle it. “I– it’s wonderful that everyone gets to live, sure, but…”

“No job is perfect.”

Kravitz finally looks up and Magnus is genuinely smiling.

“We’ve all done things we don’t want to, yeah?”

“This isn’t like– this isn’t about… it’s not that simple.” There’s a difference between doing a menial task and reaping a terrified soul.

“Sure it is.”

“No, Magnus, I–” Kravitz takes a breath he doesn’t need and Johann looks up at him with a stare that seems more intelligent that it should be. “I’ve just… It’s not just about that.”

Once the words start, they seem to be unable to stop (not that he tries too hard).

“Taking innocent people isn’t a thing that people should  _do_ , Magnus. And– and I don’t know how to teach them to do that. There’s no right way, you just– you just  _do it_ , and that’s it, that’s  _always_  been it, but Lup and Barry have feelings and hearts and… and I just– I should have  _asked_ , I just said whatever it took–

And Taako,  _gods_  I fucked it up with him. If he ever looks at me again I’ll be lucky.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” Magnus says and Kravitz laughs.

“Have you heard him talk about Lucretia?”

“Kravitz, you didn’t erase his memories and  _rewrite_  him. It’s a little different.”

Is it?

“Yeah, but I tried to kill  _Lup_.” He says, a little thrown off.

Magnus grins. “Krav, buddy, we’ve all lived together for over a hundred years. We’ve  _all_  tried to kill her.”

Kravitz looks up at him blankly.

He’s talking to a mortal, talking about grievances that shouldn’t have happened because he should have  _never_  gotten this invested in any of things. He specifically went against what the Queen wanted and he got involved–  _too_  involved– with mortals. He’s got a dog on his lap and he can  _feel it_. He’s worried about what an elf thinks. He’s worried about what  _everyone_  thinks.

He wants to apologize to Magnus Burnsides, even though he’ll be dead in forty years.

Kravitz laughs.

Johann looks at him in surprise as Kravitz doubles over, pressing his face into his fur. Kravitz hears Magnus laugh, too, but Magnus doesn’t really get it. That’s fine.

“This is a fucking mess, isn’t it, Johann?” Kravitz mutters, and the dog just stares at him.

“Kravitz, the day that Taako stops loving you I’ll eat Merle’s arm.”

He looks back up at Magnus, who’s watching him thoughtfully, and he can’t help but imagine Magnus saying those exact words to a younger Lucretia.

“Magnus, with everything that’s happened–”

“Weren’t you just doing your job, anyway? That’s what Lup told me.”

Lup?

“You talked to her?”

“Yeah.” Magnus shrugs, moving towards the kitchen. Johann watches him go but doesn’t move. Kravitz is a little greatful. “She was askin’ all around for you.”

“Really?” He finds that highly unlikely, for some reason. Maybe it was because of how he  _killed her_ , or maybe how he traumatized her brother.

“Everyone’s looking for you.”

Oh.  _Oh._

 _Fuck_. He didn’t consider that. Of course they’re looking for him. They want him  _gone_. He’s a threat now, right? (Are they really going to try to kill him, if it comes to that?)

What could he say to them? Nothing, probably. He has to run. Which, of course, would be easy for him. He just needs to open a rift and go and that’ll be it.

He looks around the apartment, at the familiarity of everything, and thinks about Taako. Maybe it will be less easy than he expects.

“Why didn’t you turn me in?” He asks, because things are suddenly catching up to him and he needs to– he  _can’t_  think about those things.

Magnus stumbles in the hallway, turning around and looking at him in confusion. “Turn you in? Kravitz, she’s– we’re not gonna  _kill_  you. Lup wants to talk to you.”

Well that’s a little bit of a relief, though he doesn’t understand why Lup  _wouldn’t_  want to kill him.

He supposes he’ll find out, anyway.

“Tell Taako I say ‘hi’ when you see him!” Magnus calls, waving his hand dismissively as he starts back to the kitchen. Johann perks with the sound of cabinets opening and closing and leaps off Kravitz’s lap, happily trotting to the kitchen.

-

Kravitz stands outside Magnus’s door for  _so long_.

He knows he has to go in. It’s inevitable. He can try to avoid Taako– he shouldn’t even  _try_  to apologize, he’s not worth that much– but he’s now Lup and Barry’s  _boss_. He’s got to talk to Lup at some point.

He’s got to go in. Do it quickly, get it out of the way, leave. There are  _so many_  souls floating around the Bureau alone– he’s got a backlog to get to anyway. It’ll be a nice distraction from this.

Kravitz sighs. Pushes the door open.

He could see Lup’s soul from the hallway. It’s brilliant to look at without the urge to collect clouding his vision– all reds and oranges and warm tones. It nearly pauses him in his tracks with how vibrant it is.

Taako’s soul is golden. It shines and glimmers. But it’s not here right now.

Kravitz doesn’t know where it is and he doesn’t try to look for it. He supposes it’s not his business anymore.

Lup looks up from her book when Kravitz enters and grins like a cat. She uncurls herself from where she sits on the couch, placing the book spine-up on the coffee table. “Well, good morning, asshole. Magnus finally sent you over.”

Gods. “Lup–”

“How about you have a seat?”

This is already going terribly. He doesn’t sit, just waits for her. He doesn’t think this will take too long. He  _hopes_  it won’t take too long.

“Alright, fine.” Lup yawns, stretching her corporeal form. Her soul, just for a moment, expands. “Well, you’ve got a few questions to answer.”

“Anything.” He owes her  _so much_.

“Cool, cool. Why the  _fuck_  haven’t you talked to my brother?”

She’s shooting straight for the kill and he shouldn’t be so surprised. Yet the tension of the room has snapped and left a silence that’s nearly unbearable. He sighs and feels something weary weigh his chest down and she just looks at him, her flaming eyes piercing and judgemental. “Lup…”

“Oh, no, I get it.” She says, crossing her arms. “If I were him, I’m not sure I’d be up for forgiving you anytime either. In fact, I’m personally trying hard not to hate your guts.”

“I–”

“No, actually, hold on.” Lup stands, a venomous smile on her lips, and Kravitz isn’t sure how he’s getting the courage to look at her in the eye. Maybe it’s the thought that he deserves this, that he shouldn’t have the luxury to look away. “First you kill me in front of my brother, which is  _super_  rude, and now Barry and I are your eternal understudies?  _Also_  rude. But do you know,  _Kravitz_  what’s the worst thing you have done?”

She moves to stand in front of him, her eyes gleaming with malice. “You left. You left my brother like a  _coward_.”

“You know– Lup that was  _never_ –”

“Oh, but of  _course_  you left him, you don’t think you mean anything to him.”

“No, that’s not–”

“Is it?” She spits and her soul flares. “You tried to sell your soul for us.”

“And I’d do it again.” Kravitz snaps. Lup scoffs, taking a step back from him.

“You don’t think he loves you?”

“I– Yes, I–” She doesn’t say anything complex, but her question suddenly seems loaded. “I’d like to think he does.” Kravitz says carefully. “But Lup, you’re so much more important to him than I’ll ever be.”

This isn’t something new to him. It’s a given– Taako loves Lup so unconditionally. Kravitz has known this from the moment he saw the two of them talking after the battle– the seconds before he died, watching them in their world. He’s never going to amount to her, and that’s fine.

“You’re still  _important_ , Kravitz.” Her fire fades and her gaze softens and  _no_ , he’s not going to put up with this. He made the wrong move and that’s his mistake to make and be chastised over.  

“Well then, it’s a good thing it all worked out, isn’t it?” He  _doesn’t_  want to talk about this, and suddenly opening a rift and leaving is looking really appealing

“So what now, then? Are you going to apologize?”

“It’s not worth it to try. I’m not an idiot. Taako probably doesn’t even want to see me.”

“Awful confident about that, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I am.”

“So that’s it? You’re just gonna drop him like that?”

“Lup–” Something snaps in him, something that all of her incessant persistence has been trying to get at. She stands there and listens, and he knows he’s playing into her cards but he can’t stop himself. “Do you think I  _want_  to?  _I_ messed up, and it wasn’t on purpose– I’m sorry I tried to kill you, I really am, but that’s what happened. I can sit and explain this to Taako but do you think he’ll want to listen? It’s better if I don’t even try, don’t you think?”

“So you  _are_  leaving him.”

It sounds much worse when put simpler.

“Yes, Lup, I suppose I am.”

“You’re selfish.”

“I’m trying to do what I think is best, and if that means  _I_  get the short end and Taako is happier, then I’m going to do it. He’s going to find someone better. He’s  _Taako_. He can find someone else who…”

Who  _what_?

Who can provide whatever he wants? Who can be there for him, who can  _physically_  kiss him? Who can grow old with him, who can integrate with his friends? Who  _won’t_  fuck everything up?

“Lup, I came here to apologize to you and because you wanted to talk to me. You’ve told me all you wanted to.” Kravitz says and Lup makes a noise of protest. “I’m going to try to find out if I can somehow waver the deal with the Queen and make it so you don’t have to do too much. That’s all.”

He isn’t going to do that– even as he says it the Queen tugs at his soul in aggravation. But saying it gives him an excuse to turn and leave.

“Kravitz–”

“If you want to tell Taako that I said I’m sorry, you can. Good luck.”

The door shuts behind him and the sound echos in the silent apartment.

Lup looks after him and her lips curl into a smile.

“Well? I told you. Go get him.”

The air warps as the  _Blink_  spell ends and Taako dashes from the couch to the door, wrenching it open and giving chase. Lup closes the door after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lup and taako definitely orchestrated that, btw.  
> also magnus definitely adopts a dog at the first chance he can get even though he's literally not ready don't fight me on this


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey yall, i'm back super early! this is really short but it kinda had to be? hard to explain. but anyway, next chapter will be normal length!

Kravitz doesn’t know exactly why he had bothered or held some small hope that he’d leave that conversation feeling hopeful.

What was he expecting, anyway? He  _knew_  going into that conversation was going to lead him with answers he didn’t want, he  _knew_  Lup was going to belittle him for his decisions. He knew that after talking to Lup the chances that he’d ever see Taako again would become slim to none, and he knew that would be  _his_  fault and he would have to deal with it.

He knows all of this, so why was there a hole in his stomach that he could feel steadily growing? Why does he feel nauseous and  _sick_?

Everything is sorted out. He’s going to give things some time– get back into his routine job, become more stable– and then come back to start Lup and Barry in reaper training. Hopefully Taako doesn’t have to see him, or interact with him, or be anywhere near him. It will be hard– being in proximity to Taako now means being in proximity to Lup, Kravitz knows. But maybe she’ll take pity on– on one of them– and keep the other away.

Hopefully Kravitz can become mist in Taako’s head, like a memory from long ago.

It’s terrifying to think of what will happen if Kravitz doesn’t interact with anybody or physically touch anything for a while. He wonders if he could ever revert back to what he once was or if he’s become too exposed to everything. He wonders if he  _wants_  that.

Without Taako, what is there to really feel, anyway?

A caress palms at his soul just then, light and comforting.

For a moment he pauses, standing still in the hallway. The Queen was listening to his heart. Of course.

He considers being spiteful to her. He considers, for the first time in centuries, pushing away her comfort. Without her influence he wouldn’t have hurt Lup, he wouldn’t have had to make that deal– none of this would be happening if  _she_  hadn’t commanded him.

It’s a tough mental battle with himself to not snap at her, but he decides that, in some wicked way, it would be unfair of him. Because the Queen is not comforting him because she wants him conflicted. She’s not trying to tell him something– there isn’t some double edged sword or a trick in her comfort. She’s not trying to prove anything.

She’s with him because she holds no grudges. She’s here because she knows he’s hurting and no more.

The Queen, he knows, holds no impressions of anyone, save for him. It is in her very nature and purpose– she stands neutral and passive, and she always will.

So Kravitz grits his teeth and takes  _this_  as a reminder. He falls into her hands willingly. He lets his soul be cupped by her spectral hands– lets this ache be soothed by her and calmed. After all, she’s all he has left.

His scythe materializes in his hand, a comforting weight in his grip, and he swings it through the air to open a rift.  The Queen whispers in his ear– soft words of encouragement with no particular meaning or direction. He doesn’t know how long he can put off training Lup and Barry; he’ll collect the excess souls from the war until the Queen sends him any real direction. Until then he’s going to close his mind and collect souls. He’s going to let his instinct guide him– not take him over, not completely, because the experience is still fresh and somewhat intimidating in his mind– and he’s going to collect souls.

It’s a lonely, awful plan and Kravitz doesn’t it. But it’s all he has left to do.

He wishes, a moment before he steps into the portal, that he could thank Taako.

Through this job he’s learned this more than anything– any time spent is better than no time spent at all. He wonders, vaguely, if Taako thinks the same. He supposes he’ll always wonder.

Kravitz sighs and steps through the portal. It closes behind him just as he hears someone yell his name.

-

Taako stands where he is, panting, the last few static pulses in the air left from the vortex rippling away.

Fuck him.

”Kravitz!” Fuck, fuck,  _fuck_  if he lets Kravitz get away from him. He’s not leaving– he can’t  _leave_ , not again, not when Taako’s going to be a fucking idiot and do this. ” _Kravitz!_ ”

He knows that this isn’t how things work– Kravitz can’t  _hear_  him, not from the astral plane, but what the hell else is he supposed to do? This  _has_  to work because he just doesn’t know what else to do if it doesn’t. “Kravitz get your  _bony ass_  back here or I swear–”

Behind Taako there’s an audible  _rip_  as the air pulses once again.

Oh. So it does work. Neat.

“Taako… I– I’m sorry–”

Taako whirls around and looks at Kravitz and his sheepish, apologetic,  _stupid_  face for less than a second before dashing forward and kissing him.

Kravitz freezes, his body tensing under Taako’s fingers.

Tough shit, kemosabe.

“Taako–” Kravitz backs away suddenly and Taako is trying– he’s trying  _really_  hard to not get buried under a storm of emotions. Guilt, relief, anger and love all mingle in his head and it’s becoming hard to not lose them all to  _fear_.   

“Where the fuck are you going?” Taako asks, releasing his grip of Kravitz’s arms. Kravitz immediately takes a few steps back and he looks so distraught and  _guilty_. It’s so hard for Taako to be sure he’s making the right choice when Kravitz looks like that. He just… he just wishes Kravitz would smile. Or that he’d try to trick him into laughing and forgiving. Taako just wants things to be done, no matter how fabricated they end.

“Taako, I– I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have…” He glances behind himself at where he arrived from the astral plane and Taako can’t stand it. Kravitz is  _not_  leaving. He’s not.

“My man, shut up and listen.”

Kravitz looks at him and he just looks  _so defeated_  and worn. And… and it hurts Taako to look at just as much as it hurts him to admit  _he should feel like that_. “Before you–”

“No, no– don’t make me regret this, Krav. I mean it. You’re gonna shut up and let me make this bad choice.”

Kravitz looks at him and is quiet. That’s what Taako notices. He ignores Kravitz’s expression.

“Listen, fella, I heard what you and Lup talked about–  _I said no interrupting_ – and I heard what you said. Now– now let’s ignore what, um– that you tried to kill my sister.  _I’m_ going to ignore that. Because my life is in a  _shit_  of a shamble and I…

Kravitz, I need you here. I don’t care what you did, I– well, I care a lot, and I don’t like Lup and Barry leaving but  _that’s beside the point_.

I’m going to be a fucking idiot and forgive you. I’m gonna– gods I don’t want to lie Kravitz, it’s  _so hard_  to be okay with– with what happened earlier. I don’t want to get hurt like that again. And– no, I  _know_  you didn’t do it on purpose, I  _know_ , but I’ve had a  _lot of shit thrown at me_.

I’m going to give you an out, Kravitz. I need you. I need things to be done.”

“Taako, you don’t have to do this.” Kravitz whispers– quietly, like Taako might break. “If you don’t– if you can’t trust me then I– I get it, I really do, no one will blame you–”

“ _Nope_.”

Taako rushes forward to stop Kravitz, stop him from talking about things that made  _sense_. Because if he thinks about it too much Kravitz is right.

So instead of making the right choice Taako kisses Kravitz again, mid-sentence. Kravitz tenses and he doesn’t kiss him back, but it shuts him up, which is good enough.

“I told you.” Taako says, leaning back at the first sign of Kravitz relaxing. “It’s not smart. But I’m a dumb wizard who’s in love with you.  _So kiss me back, damnit_.”

He presses his lips against Kravitz one last time.

It’s nice for him, even if Kravitz doesn’t really kiss him back.


	21. Chapter 21

“C’mon, that’s all you have?”

Kravitz can’t help but look to the viewer’s window. “I told you, this is only–”

He pauses as a fireball, larger than his head, sails pass his ear and explodes on the wall behind him.

Lup is looking at him, annoyed and wearing a devilish grin. Her hands glow with the leftover traces of fire, sparks shooting from her nails. “I’m stronger than you think. Don’t underestimate me.”

“I’m not underestimating you.”

“I know. You’re too worried about Taako.”

Things had been shaky and she hits a nerve.

It had been a week since Kravitz made the deal with the Raven Queen for Lup and Barry’s souls. Pointedly he had spent that week ignoring her calls and, instead, collecting the excess souls from the day of Story and Song (which was a term coined by Lup, apparently. Kravitz didn’t think it would stick). It was refreshing and almost freeing to be back at work, but with every passing hour the Queen urged him to make well on his side of the deal.

He could ignore her for a week before every time he tried to draw his scythe it wouldn’t appear and her voice would shout in his head. So he came back for the first time.

Ignoring the Queen was difficult, but doable. Ignoring Taako was another ordeal.

Though to be fair, he wasn’t particularly  _ignoring_  Taako, not really. It was avoidance.

For the first two days after the deal was made, Taako tried desperately to go back to how things were. As if nothing happened, as if Kravitz had never tried to hunt Lup, Taako went about his days as normal. Early breakfast, reading, lunch, cleaning, dinner. His soul radiated and was encapsulated with magic– the ever present glamour charm. He smiled and laughed and kissed Kravitz– never long– when he wanted. It was how things had been and it was how Taako wanted them to be. Kravitz had tried so long to comply, to smile and kiss back as if his head was clear.

But what Taako had said rung in Kravitz’s ears when Taako fell asleep in his arms that night and it never stopped. When Taako kissed him in the morning and assured that everything was fine, Kravitz couldn’t fight back. When Taako read, buried in the crook of Kravitz’s arm, he felt  _nauseous_.

He could only last for two days before the guilt forced him to leave, though this time it was on good terms. He told Taako that he had to work, and that he’d be a little busier than normal– which  _wasn’t a lie_.

But Kravitz couldn’t  _stand_  it.

Even talking to Taako over their stones of farspeech about the most benign things became difficult. His words, so practiced and thin, stuck in his throat like rocks.

The guilt of knowing what he had done and the devastation of ruining Taako’s trust in him– then having Taako  _come back_  because he wanted something so fabricated… it was awful.  _Kravitz_  was the bad guy in this story. The foolish, heavy-hearted manipulator.

He couldn’t leave Taako, though. Guilt kept him tied– he’d already done  _so much_. It would only hurt Taako further if he left.

Kravitz loved– he  _loves_  Taako, loves him more than anything. And Taako… Taako  _said_  he loves him. He doesn’t want to leave, he  _never_  wants to leave, but what could he do?

It was a complex situation to be in. An ugly, horrible, disgusting situation to be in.

Taako watching Kravitz and Lup spar made things even worse.

Taako didn’t like Lup and Barry being reapers– no one did. But Barry assured him they weren’t starting right away, and that they needed to train first. Which was true. There would be some time before Kravitz took them to the field, and in the meanwhile they would learn how to control their new energies and learn to communicate with the Queen. Kravitz agreed that Taako could watch some of this training.

But Taako didn’t need to see Kravitz fight his sister. Not again. Not under any circumstances.

“This isn’t about him.”

Yet that’s what he requested. He wanted to watch the match, no matter how gruesome it could become. The first session would be between Kravitz and Lup– the second being between Kravitz and Barry. He didn’t think it was a good idea, not under any circumstances, but Kravitz could no longer say no.

“Then hit me, asshole.”

Kravitz sighs and his scythe weighs heavily. He can only envision Taako, worrying at his nails with a hawk-like stare. What could Taako do, though? This  _has_  to happen. He agreed to this.

Some of the complacencies and submission bubbles to his surface in frustration.

“Taako’s a big boy.  _Hit me_.”

 _Fine_.

He rushes forward, Lup yelps, and a spell hits Kravitz square on the chest.

Time, which had spent so long being warped around Kravitz, completely stops. He feels his body lurch forward and then  _freeze_ , held in place by  _something_  he can’t see or touch. It’s a spell, powerful and gripping.

The breath he had inhaled catches in his throat and releases with a gasp.

It’s a good move by Lup, he thinks. Then he realizes that she didn’t cast the spell.

“ _Taako!_ ”

Lup is  _fuming_  and she glares at the arena’s door as it opens and quick, running footsteps draw near. Kravitz can feel his soul grow cold. So incredibly and entirely cold. He wishes, so fervently, that he’s wrong.

“Kravitz I’m– I’m  _so_ – I’m so sorry–”

Another spell hits him, much more quiet and much less charged than the last, and his body suddenly pitches forward. He crumbles to his knees and things are  _so quiet_.

_He should have left._

“Taako, are you fucking  _kidding?_ ”

“I– It was a reflex, I–”

“You don’t– I’ve  _been_  in a fight before–!”

“I know, I  _know_ – I swear, Lup–”

“Taako, this shit is  _ridiculous_ –”

Kravitz sits back on his feet, releasing another breath. The leftover magic, despite how weak it was, leaves his soul buzzing. He licks his lips, swallows, clutches the fabric on his pants. The Queen sighs a hot breath down his spine.

“I’m  _so_ – Lup, I’m–”

“Taako I  _told you!_ I  _said_ –”

“I-I–  _Kravitz_ , I–”

A hand touches his shoulder, shaking and hesitant and light.

Kravitz stands and looks at Taako– he’s shaking, staring up at him with wide eyes and lips that move with unspoken apologies. Immediately he withdraws his hand and starts stuttering– Lup is quiet then. She’s waiting as well. Kravitz doesn’t know what to do.

“K-Kravitz– I  _swear_  I didn’t– I didn’t–  _please_ –”

There’s something new in Kravitz’s soul just then.  _Anger_.

It’s unjustified and he’s not allowed to be angry, not at Taako, never at Taako. Taako is the one that’s suffering,  _Taako_  is the one with problems and Taako is the one that needs support and… and  _Taako_  is the one for whom Kravitz dances on glass for.

That’s a horribly selfish and disgusting thought, isn’t it? How complex emotions can be.

_“Kravitz!”_

Hands grapple at his coat as he turns and starts to walk. He simply doesn’t know where to go and doesn’t know where to be but he  _knows_  it’s not here, wherever  _here_  is.

Lup straightens and she watches this spectacle and for some odd reason Kravitz thinks of her. He wonders how it must feel to watch Taako beg and plead, desperate with each word. He wonders if it hurts her.

It… it certainly hurts him.

“ _Kravitz_  I– I promise I  _swear_ – I didn’t  _mean_ –”

Taako sounds like a mess and every step shatters Kravitz, every step grows heavier, every step is just so much harder than the last.

“Please–  _Please_  don’t go–”

His heart, nonexistent, beats so incredibly slow.

“Taako.” Kravitz stops and turns and Taako nearly runs into him, taking quick steps back.  

He doesn’t want to say what’s on his mind. He doesn’t want to disrupt this peace, he doesn’t want Lup staring at him, he doesn’t want Taako to hear this. He wants to lie, say everything’s fine, that he just… needs to leave. He needs to go to work, because that’s what happens on days like today. That’s what  _normally_  happens.

For the first time he  _understands_  Taako and his choice. He gets it.

“Taako, I– I understand  _why_  and I’m not trying to say I don’t deserve it. But this isn’t working.” Kravitz tries, he really does, to sound calming. He doesn’t want this to be an ordeal any bigger than it is. But he’s  _tired_. There is no easy out this time.

“No– no, no, Kravitz, I’m  _sorry_  I– It was on me, all on Taako, yeah? We don’t– don’t  _go_ –”

“Taako, I don’t know what to  _do_. I love you, Taako, but– I can’t do this, I really can’t.”

“Krav–  _please_ –”

“Taako.”

“I– I didn’t  _mean_  to–”

“No, Taako, I… I understand…”

Taako says something quivering, his hands tugging at his ears, and  _that’s_  when Kravitz gets it and  _that’s_  when Kravitz’s heart, should it exist, shatters.

“Taako, please…” Taako’s words, his feelings– they’re not in Taako’s hands– Kravitz knows this much. He’s learned enough to not finish his sentence. Taako looks as if he can’t be reasoned with– and, most likely, he can’t right now. It’s stupid and inconsiderate of Kravitz to try to tell him to “calm down”.

So instead he carefully and cautiously touches Taako’s arm and it pains him to know that he can’t feel him, can’t touch the silk from his shirt, can’t feel his warmth. But it’s what he’s supposed to do in that moment.

Taako stares at him for so long, so  _painfully_  long, before nearly collapsing into his arms, clutching at his shirt and not being silent about the sobs that escape from him, loud in the silence of the arena. It’s the first time they’ve touched and things don’t feel fake.

Kravitz can only put his arms up around Taako, holding him close and wondering when things will change.  _If_  things will change.

“I-I– I don’t– I don’t want y-you to  _go_.”

“I know,” Kravitz whispers, and he  _shouldn’t_  but he rests his head on top of Taako’s. It’s where he belongs. “I know, Taako.”

“I-I’m– I’m– S- _So_  sorry.” Taako is  _shaking_  in his arms and Kravitz can feel his tears on his shirt. “I-I’m  _trying_ –”

“I know. Let’s… let’s not think about this now, yeah?” He runs his hands up and down Taako’s back, slowly, and tries to make sense of the growing pit in his stomach. Tries to tell himself he’s not doing the right thing.

“No, I– Kravitz, I– I’m trying so hard and– and I– I’m  _sorry_  for what– what I  _said_  and I  _want_  things to  _work_  and I– I,  _fuck_  I love you, and I’m  _so sorry_  and just  _please_ – please  _don’t leave me_.”

Kravitz sighs and it’s  _heavy_  in his chest, heavy in his mind, weighing on his soul like a ache that won’t leave. “I won’t.”

It’s painful to him and he wonders what would would even happen. If something could happen at all.

Gently he pries Taako off of him, holding his shaking arms and ducking his head to look into Taako’s red eyes. Taako’s glamour charm is off. “Taako, can you hear me? I’m… I’m not going to leave, love.”

It’s going to hurt. It already hurts. But in that moment it truly hits him– he’s not leaving Taako. He  _can’t_. Whether it’s guilt or it’s love or fear or something else; he will stay and he will wait.

He’ll prove himself again and again, if that’s what it takes.

“K-Kravitz, I– I love you and– and you don’t  _deserve_  this–”

“ _Taako_.” Kravitz says, quiet, and gently he brushes away the tears on Taako’s face. “Taako, it’s okay. I understand.”

“B-But– I… I  _want_  this to work a-and– and I… it’s so– I  _can’t_ , it’s not–”

“We’ll make this work. Do you… is that–”

“I–  _fuck_  I love you, Kravitz, a-and– I want to, I want to  _so badly_ –”

“Okay. Okay, love.”

(The darkness in his stomach is growing and he doesn’t know why, not really.)

The two of them stand there in the arena, quiet and cold as their souls tremble, but for the first time in a week Kravitz feels as if he can properly breathe. Distantly he can hear the arena door closing, feel the warmth of Lup’s soul brush against his as she leaves. Things aren’t easy– they’re never easy and they never  _will_  be easy. But it’s better than how it was– anything is better than pretending, than whispering and tiptoeing. It’s on the right track, isn’t it?

“Kravitz…?”

“Yes?”

“I-I…” Taako sniffs and wipes away tears with shaking fingers, letting out a sad laugh. “N-nevermind. It’s stupid.”

“I don’t think so.” Kravitz says quietly. “I’m sure it’s not.”

“It’s– you d-don’t even know what I’m gonna say.”

“Go ahead. I don’t think I’ll change my opinion.”

“I-It’s just…” And carefully, with a shaking hand, he touches one of Kravitz’s hands. Slowly he laces their fingers together

Taako’s hand is cold. Kravitz’s hand isn’t.

“No longer clammy, huh?” Taako asks with a wet laugh and a sniff. “N-Not really… not quite warm but… better than an ice cube, huh?”

Kravitz… doesn’t know what to say to that. Doesn’t know what to do.

And he decides, in this particular moment, he doesn’t particularly care.

“It’s because I love you.”

He leans down and kisses Taako, chaste and slow and sweet, and  _something_  fills his heart– disappointment, or maybe love, or maybe relief– when the world pulses and shifts once more. He supposes some fireworks never do fade.


	22. Chapter 22

Existing, from then on, feels like breathing.

Natural.

Sometimes it’s violent, gasping breaths that rattle deep within the rib cage. It’s quick and hurried and desperate, clinging to whatever was once happening before. It yearns for the cadance lost in fear.

Sometimes it’s slow. Sluggish and deep breaths that fill the lungs like water until there’s something heavy in the chest but not suffocating. It’s placid. It’s a rest, voluntary or not.

Other times it just  _happens_.

Kravitz just  _breathes_. And, no matter how fast it happens, it's natural.

Magnus leaves Taako’s apartment and he brings Johann with him so Taako and Kravitz can start using it again. He goes back to his apartment and he doesn’t accept the grateful thanks Kravitz tries to give him. Instead he laughs when Johann jumps on Kravitz-- he laughs and says Kravitz should visit him to spend time with Johann sometimes. He says it’s what friends do.

Lup still hangs around, more-than-not accompanied by Barry, but more often than not she’s at the lab because Lucas is working tirelessly on her body. He's almost done-- there's a few things to be tweaked but she can see something like a body formed. When she’s not at the lab she’s content to lounge around the apartment with them, waiting without a place to be (though her and Barry have taken to sleeping in Johann’s old room). Whenever she enters the room or the apartment she knocks first now, or she has Barry with her.

Kravitz doesn’t have the urge to collect her soul anymore. Both of them know this. But when Taako requests these new precautions and Kravitz tries not to feel terrible, tries not to feel that awful chill spark in his stomach, Barry obliges happily. It’s no big deal, he says. It’s what friends do, he says.

Kravitz wouldn’t know.

He can only focus on one thing now. Taako.

There’s no more walking on eggshells and it’s  _awful_. Because Kravitz is careful, he’s  _so damn careful_ , but he still messes up.

Taako tells him with shaking breath that  _this is fine_. Things are  _fine_  when Kravitz messes up and oversteps.

He backs into a corner--

He drops the dish he’s holding--

He flinches--

And says  _this is fine_.

Kravitz does what he can but everyday things change and he starts to notice just how much of these problems  _aren’t him_.

It’s odd and he wonders if it’s conceited to think it’s all him and all his fault. Most likely it is. He wasn’t the one that made Taako quit dinner halfway through preparing it. He wasn’t the one who made Taako wonder aloud, absently, where Lup went and where she is. He wasn’t the one that made Taako restless at night, thrashing and arching his sleeping body and  _screaming_  for Magnus, for Lup, for Lucy-- for Lucy,  _Lucy Lucy Lucy, what did you do?_

But Kravitz is the one who made Taako eye him warily sometimes. Kravitz makes Taako cracks the door open first, looking back to him before opening it fully. Kravitz makes Taako aware of people’s  _hands_ , aware of how restless they are. Kravitz is the one that Taako flinches at, sometimes, when Kravitz reaches out for him absently.

Kravitz has learned to stop doing that last one.

He’s learned to stop trying to draw Taako close. He’s learned to stop brushing up against him. He’s learned to stop his hand from taking Taako’s and pressing him to his body, trying to feel those sparks and those fires. He’s learned to stop running his fingers through Taako’s hair. He’s learned to stop tilting his chin and kissing him and feeling those fireworks.

It’s not that he’s being careful, not particularly. He just never knows what to expect.

Some days Taako practically faints into his arms and giggles and peppers his face with kisses. The horrible thing for Kravitz to learn was that  _those_  days are often the worst.

Some days Taako takes his hand but ducks when Kravitz tries to kiss him. Some days he wants to be in Kravitz’s lap and never wants to leave. Some days he doesn’t like to be in the same room as Kravitz, and so Kravitz will take his leave and go to work and  _drift_  and forget about it all.

Some days he comes back from work and finds Taako crying on the floor, his makeup smeared and his hair ruffled and he  _hurts_  when Taako flinches at the sight of him. Some days he comes back and Taako kisses him like he’s been gone for years.

He can’t find the pattern. So he gives up.

If Taako wants to kiss him, he’ll kiss back.

If Taako doesn’t, he’ll let out a breath and try to smile.

But no matter what happens, he’ll stay.

When Taako sobs into his shoulders, he stays. When Taako screams and bolts awake and scrambles out of the bed, he stays. When Taako  _can’t_  sleep in the same bed but wakes up early to make both of them breakfast, he stays. When Taako won’t leave him alone in the same room as Lup, he stays.

It hurts. It hurts like hell. But Kravitz isn’t going to leave.

He spends so many days alone, even if Taako is talking to Barry in the other room. Kravitz can leave as he pleases, and sometimes he does-- sometimes he opens a rift and is gone for minutes that can turn into hours and he returns to quiet. But other times he stays in the apartment he’s learned to call home.

Sometimes he just wants to be there. Sometimes he just wants to reach out to Taako. Sometimes he wants to pretend like he still can.

The Queen keeps a close watch over him. Though the last time they saw each other things weren’t necessarily  _pleasant_ … she’s comforting. She always is.

He feels her hold on him, her fingers in his hair-- her nails, light against his skin, ghost over his shoulders and press against his back. A warm humming in his ears as he sits on the bed, hearing Taako retch in the bathroom from another nightmare.

He thinks about holding back Taako’s hair. He thinks about rubbing his back and holding him close when he shakes. He stares at the bathroom door, keeps staring at it, and the Queen kisses his soul.

Kravitz understands matters like these take time. Healing, Magnus calls it; it’s  _recovery_ , it’s mending broken things, and  _Taako_  is the broken thing here. Kravitz can’t expect things to be better within the two months they stay and wait for Lup’s body.

It’s selfish, he decides, to feel lonely as Taako heals.

Sometimes, granted, he doesn’t feel as lonely-- when he smiles and Taako kisses the corner of his lips and everything tilts, just a bit. When Taako curls into his side in bed and sleeps through the night and Kravitz wakes up to someone petting his hair lazily he feels whole.

But most of the time  _that doesn’t happen._

Kravitz shouldn’t feel lonely about this. It’s healing and  _he_  caused the damage.

He shouldn’t feel lonely and it’s  _selfish_  to feel lonely.

Yet he can’t stop.

When the Queen provides him with a slight  _nudge_  towards giving Barry and Lup their first  _real_  lesson, this time he doesn’t ignore her and push things off.

And, this time, he tells Taako that it’s a bad idea for him to come.

“Yeah, no shit.” Taako says after a long while, exhaling quickly and crossing his arms. There’s a hair out of place and it sticks up, just a little, from under Taako’s glamour charm. Kravitz just wants to reach over and-- and smooth it down, just a bit, but today isn’t that kind of day.

“It’s-- it’s not going to be like… like what we did.” He needs to assess them, he truly does. But he supposes that’s going to wait until they’re out in the field-- which isn’t smart, but he’s opted to tell Taako whenever he has to do business with Barry and Lup. And he’s not going to lie, either.

“Well what are you doing?” Taako tries to go back to scrubbing dishes but his ears are pressed flat against his head, listening diligently. Kravitz absently runs his fingers over the table’s surface.

(He doesn't feel it. He doesn’t feel much these days, honestly.)

“Just… informational stuff. About being a reaper.”

“So why can’t I come?”

Kravitz sighs and drops his gaze because some things that are said naturally, on days like today, feel like knives. “It’s… Well, it’s  _Death_ , and mortals can’t… They can’t really know these things.”

“Secrets. Okay.” He says, too carelessly, and Kravitz doesn’t have the energy today to fight. Taako didn’t sleep last night, which meant Kravitz didn’t either.

“Please understand,” he pleads instead, quietly. “I don’t know how to explain.”

“No, no.” Taako puts a dish on the drying rack and it clashes loudly against another. “I get it. Death secrets, natch.”

“Taako, I’m sorry.” What is he even apologizing for? He isn't  _lying_.

“I said  _it’s fine_.” Taako says, a little snappish. “Do you hear me saying it’s  _not_  fine?”

Yes. He does. “Okay, love.”

Kravitz stands and Taako’s ears flicker to listen to him. “I’m… I’m going to go. Get Barry and Lup.”

“Have at it my man.”

Kravitz hesitates before opening a portal, right there in the kitchen. He feels as though there’s something he should  _say_ \-- because he feels as though, somehow, he’s done something wrong. But he  _has_  done nothing wrong. Or, perhaps, he just wants to say  _I’ll be back, love, see you later_.

He neither apologizes nor says goodbye. He takes a last long glance at Taako, hunched shoulders and flat ears, and leaves.

-

Barry and Lup, it seemed, were eager to learn that day. Kravitz had told them to meet him in the Bureau’s arena-- no weapons needed-- and when he arrived they were already there, waiting expectantly.  

“Hey there Dracula!” Lup calls, spectral arms crossed. Her soul flares brilliantly today. Barry waves to him.

(His soul is different to hers in so many ways and it’s interesting to compare. His soul is slow but not  _sad_ \-- it’s a melody, drawn and sweet and moving, and somehow it tells a  _story_. There’s bumps and it’s  _purple_  and there’s something warm about it all, something  _changed_. It’s complex, much more complex than most souls Kravitz has seen.

It’s a fire, low and warm. Kravitz would have hated to see it snuffed out.)

“What's on the agenda?” Barry asks, then adds with an awkward chuckle after a pause, “Boss?”

The word sends a nauseous feeling to Kravitz’s stomach. He doesn't want to be responsible for what happens to them on this job. “We have to go to the Stockade. Introductory things.”

No better place to start, after all.

“Like, the big soul jail?” Lup asks, cocking her head. “That's where they keep the souls, right?”

“Yes. Has the Queen contacted either of you yet?”

Barry says  _no_  just as Lup nods.

“She, uh, came to me. In my dreams. A few times.” Lup says and looks at the floor when Barry turns to her.

“She did?” He sounds hurt. Kravitz braces himself because the betrayal on Barry's face means something he doesn't know about.

“W-well-- I, uh, yeah. Just, uh, she was kinda… there? I don't know.”

“Lup, why didn't you tell me?”

She doesn't respond. Just stares at her sleeve cuff-- she's been wearing that same crimson cloak ever since Story and Song. She starts toying with it and things are quiet.

Kravitz is finding that he can't-- he doesn't like  _quiet_  anymore.

“Enough-- it's fine, Barry. The Queen told me she'd deal with Lup first. And those meetings have sworn secrecy.” As Kravitz says these words he feels the Queen's fingers hesitate and hover above his soul. It's a lie, of course it is, but Kravitz can't stand to see another broken thing. Can't bear listening to something else break in the absence of noise.

“Oh.”

Lup looks at Kravitz gratefully, even if she doesn't understand.

“If she's only showing in her dreams I'm assuming she's not given you anything yet. This is fine. It'll take time.”

He doesn't know where the words come from. He's lying, he's laying down the road as he walks, but the words sound  _right_. Natural.

When no one says anything further, Kravitz opens a rift to-- for the first time in a while-- the Eternal Stockade. Barry and Lup stare it the rift and something like fear flickers on their faces as the silence of the air is suddenly broken.

They can hear  _them_  now, too.

The screams. The songs.

Kravitz turns and walks into the portal and, after a few moments, Barry and Lup follow.


	23. Chapter 23

_Jail_  is not the right word for the Stockade.

Kravitz has seen jails in the mortal world before. He’s been to those damp corners of the unseen to collect souls that have started to rot in the air. He’s seen the darkness those catacombs can deliver. He’s ran his hands over the bars and he’s seen the people inside– their heads snap up as his fingers  _tap tap tap_  over the metal. Kravitz has tried to find joy in those dark places– he’s tried to smile at the fear in these souls and he’s tried to play some theatrics. A whisper in the darkness can do so much to a feeble mind.

He’s never found amusement in jails, no matter how hard he’s tried. And that’s the difference, to him, between a mortal jail and the Eternal Stockade.

No matter what shape a jail is in– no matter how old it may be, no matter if the bars were raised with copper or gold, no matter if one person is waiting or if twenty people are doomed– it omits a feeling that Kravitz used to try to grasp at, hungrily and unconsciously yearning for  _anything_  (for it is easier to notice darkness than light). It is the feeling of  _absence_.

Absence of hope. Absence of a light at the top of a staircase, implying that there is an  _outside_ , that there is something other than the darkness that engulfs all. Absence of another soul– of another light, another being that is capable of thought, that can share the feeling of dread and fear.

A jail is cold– so cold– as the beads of sweat that drip down a man’s neck; cold as the cement under a mother’s fingers, cold as the keys that swing at the guard’s side, cold as the bars Kravitz raps upon with a fake and thin devilish grin.

There is a  _finality_  to a jail. There is a path and Kravitz awaits at the end of it with something people whisper to be  _the cold hands of death_.

In jail, there is an end.

The Stockade has no end.

It is not a story with a beginning and a close. There is no entrance and there is no exit– there is only absolution and there is only  _existing_. There is limbo, a tense place where souls wait for  _everything_  and nothing. They wait for an exit; they wait for death, they wait for rebirth, they wait and they wait and they  _wait_.

They wait with hope. They wait with warmth seething underneath them, ready to breach when  _something_  happens.

While they wait they entertain themselves.

Kravitz steps into the Stockade and they awaken from their trances.

He holds out his hands on instinct and they rush upwards, slipping through his fingers like pure light. Filtering through his hair they brush against his cheeks and they encircle him, a tunnel of  _light_  that, against everything, makes Kravitz smile softly. Something about them is comforting– he thinks it might be their unyielding hope, driving them to flock him and whisper to him with eager love.

He’s always wondered if they know about their sentences. He’s always wondered if it matters.

Together the souls sound like some sort of improvisational orchestra– they are all street musicians, all in the alleys, looking for something to call a future. They band together, rugged and poverish. It starts with a trumpet, slow and weary, and it ends with a band, assembled in one day and performing songs with intense emotions they can never agree on.

Some of the players are aggressive and irritated. Some of the players are hopeful and joyous– or they try to be, at least. Some players drawl and their instruments sing a sad tune; lagatto and slow, they stand at the back of the performers, wondering if they’ll ever be heard.

Yet no matter the singer, no matter the soul, the music– somehow– fits.

Somehow they slot together and somehow a hive-mind is created. Hopeful, unorganized, messy, beautiful– this is the Eternal Stockade, now and forevermore.

Kravitz hears a breath behind him and he turns, fragments of souls tied in his hair and his eyelashes. Lup and Barry are staring at everything– for the room is  _abstract_. It exists as much as it doesn’t– it is only as dark as it is light. The souls hold no shape as well– only flashes of color, imagined for a moment before altered. They are streams of something solid and something two dimensional, their tangibility determined by the absence of matter that makes them.

Kravitz looks at Barry and Lup’s awestruck faces and realizes that he’s never had to adjust to seeing these avant things.

Neither mortals say anything as they step further into the room, their feet hitting solid matter but also  _floating_ , for they are now endless and eternal as the room around them.

 _This is where we are_. Kravitz says, but his mouth does not move– there is no sound but the silence created in symphony.

Lup and Barry say nothing. Perhaps they do not know how to speak.

_This is where we start, this is where we end._

Barry lifts his hand and  _blue_  runs through his fingertips, reflecting in his wide, stunned eyes. Lup watches him, watches something she could never imagine–

The beauty of life.

 _This is where the souls reside_. Kravitz moves forward and in this room there’s something that puts him at ease. In the Stockade there is  _nothing_ – there is no time, no morality, no strife.   _This is where we bring them. This is our job_.

For centuries this room has offered him solace. It’s offered silence, peace, eternity.

And so, for centuries, Kravitz has preferred the jails and their stench. There, and only there, could he begin to imagine what the dread could feel like. Here there is nothing.

He lifts a careful hand and the souls swirl around him. Greedily they tangle in his skin, coursing through his own quiet, blue song. Some of them shout at him. Some of them beg. Some of them sing. They want him– they want the promise of an  _outside world_ , they want the promise of where he came from and where he will go when he is done.

He’s offered them release just once. Just once and never again.

Barry is the first to speak. He stands next to Kravitz and he feels it to, Kravitz can see– he hears the song and the colors.  _How_ … He holds his arm out and the souls billow around him.  _How many souls are here?_

 _I don’t know._  Kravitz replies truthfully. They’re not tangible enough to count.

_Did you put all of them here?_

_I don’t think so_. He cups his hand and a soul, brilliantly orange, sits in his palm. This one sings.  _The Stockade was here before me. It will be here when I am gone_.

 _I’ve been here before_. Lup’s voice whispers. She moves forward and stands next to him and there’s something sad in the way she looks at these souls.  _I think I remember this. It's… familiar_.

_You’ve never been here before. It’s the concept of death you find familiar._

_Will we remember this when we leave the Stockade?_  Barry asks and Kravitz looks at him thoughtfully.

Clever Barry, asking the questions Kravitz has never bothered to know.

_Parts of it._

_This is where we’ll go when we die?_ Lup whispers _._

_Yes._

Kravitz doesn’t think about this inevitability often. He’s tried to avoid the topic altogether recently.  _Unless the Queen pardons us_.

_What’s the Queen’s favorite kind of flower?_

Lup looks at Barry, who is smiling at his own joke, and laughs.

The souls simply and suddenly  _flourish_.

With childlike wonder Barry, Lup, and Kravitz watch the souls react– they watch them quickly brighten, roaring in delight, feeding off the joy in laughter. Colors that are vibrant and blinding surround them and lift them– for they have not known something other than grief or hope for so long. They attach to the feeling like a drug and breathe it in with a desperation unlike anything.

It’s a display of beauty and art– it’s a bird, brilliant and bright, spreading its wings and taking flight. It’s a fire and joy be it’s kindling.

Barry breathlessly mutters something and Lup stares in shock.

And… and Kravitz laughs.

He’s not sure why. But as he looks at these joyous souls, so contained but so  _free_ , something simmers at his surface and boils over in a laugh. He’s never  _laughed_  in the Eternal Stockade, maybe that’s the kicker to the situation.

He’s always been alone. In the mortal plane, in here– he’s been alone.

Cold and alone.

Barry and Lup look at him and he must look mad, staring up at the colors with large, amazed eyes and a wide grin across his face. He must look completely and utterly mad.

And so Lup laughs. Barry joins in.

The three reapers stand in the Stockade and marvel at what cannot be touched or seen.

The three reapers do not count time as they observe this spectacle.

The three reapers  _feel_ , for the first time, what it is truly like to be alive.


	24. Chapter 24

When Barry, Lup, and Kravitz part ways that evening things are oddly somber.

They arrive back in the arena of the Bureau of Balance and though the sounds of people talking can be heard through the walls, things are eerily quiet. There’s no buzz, no noise surrounding them, and only a few select souls that drift in the air lazily.

Yet Barry and Lup still look at the world around them in complete wonder.

They don’t say a word as they slowly turn in place, finally listening and  _seeing_  the world. Kravitz has always been told this by the Queen offhandedly, something to be muttered over tea; that souls are perceptible to everyone– living or dead, mortal or godly. It’s all a matter of imagination and heart.

(Of course, she’d always laugh airly after telling him. So he never truly believed her.)

Now she watches Lup and Barry and smiles approvingly. Some feeling worms into Kravitz’s head– some whisper that lets him know  _this is the right thing_.

“I’ll let you know what’s next,” Kravitz says, and they look at him with wide eyes.

They  _look_  at him. Look at his chest. At his soul.

Kravitz opens another portal and leaves before they can respond, ignoring the voice that tells him to stay. It’s a quick, impulse-driven action that leaves him wondering when he became so terribly ashamed of his own soul.

Bitterly, he wonders.

It’s something he has to consider now, he supposes. That others can now see  _him_  and the disconnect he has.

He doesn’t think about where he’s going to end up until the portal reopens and he’s looking at Taako’s kitchen. He observes at the scene before him from the portal. It takes some mental convincing for him to even step onto the tile and close the tear.

He’s not even entirely sure he wants to be there. It’s easy for Kravitz to ignore this, but there’s no  _reason_  to return to the apartment, not particularly. But he has no other place to go.

There’s no more sunlight streaming through the windows and outside the sky is growing shades of purple and blue. The apartment is quiet and still, not a hair out of place, and Kravitz thinks he can hear his own breathing. It shouldn’t be unnerving but for some reason it is.

There’s some part of Kravitz that wants to slip into the new routine that Taako seems to have formed around him. Some part that pushes Kravitz, gently, to go into the bedroom and observe. To keep his gaze on Taako and  _wait_  for something– some indicator of what he should do. Some rejection to tell him to leave or some smile to tell him to stay. For some reason, tonight, he needs the guidance. He needs those clear-cut instructions.

He’s too tired to make a gamble and climb into bed. There’s no shield around him tonight, no barrier to keep him strong when Taako flinches or pulls away. Perhaps it’s something about seeing all of those souls, open and free, and having to face that his favorite one is closed.

It’s a tragedy he’s not sure he can face tonight. For to mirror the part of him yearning for routine there is another section of his mind that is so incredibly withered and beaten. The section that tells him to just  _go_.

Despite it, he takes off his cloak.

It dematerializes in his hand and he watches the inky color of it slink away and slip through his fingers like water. He watches and he feels the Queen, once more, send a warmth through his body. Kravitz pauses at the feeling, just for a moment.

He’s starting to resent it all, if he’s honest.

This apartment. The Queen. Taako.

He shouldn’t be alone here. He shouldn’t have only the Queen by his side.

Quietly Kravitz exits the kitchen, his footsteps making no sound as he moves towards the bedroom. He’s alone in this house, but of course he’ll stay. He always does.

The bedroom light is on and he pauses outside of the door, seeing the brightness under the cracks. There’s no noise, save for his–

No, not his. It’s  _Taako’s_  breathing.

Taako is alive. Kravitz is not.

He pushes his hand against the door and it’s like touching the air. He can’t feel it anymore– he wonders, dully, what the last thing was that he  _could_  feel. It certainly wasn’t anything in this apartment.

Before he can convince himself not to, Kravitz pushes open the door and waits.

Taako’s seated on the bed, curled up as tight as he can, and with a bit of confusion Kravitz can see he’s holding a book on ancient runes– one of Kravitz’s books. He’s looking at the pages with half-lidded eyes, skimming and yawning every so often. Kravitz didn’t think he could read those runes at all.

Absently Taako puts the book down, dog-earring a page before placing it gently on the nightstand. He stretches, yawns, and catches sight of Kravitz.

He jumps but it’s not a  _flinch_.

“Oh! Y-you– uh– you’re, um, back.” His eyes are awake and alert but there’s no fear, not tonight. Just, for an odd reason,  _guilt_.

“I can leave.” Kravitz doesn’t mean to say it– not at all, not like  _that_ – but he can’t deal with the tiptoeing tonight. It’s harsh and blunt but he finds he can’t feel regret for it.

Taako looks up at him and his mouth moves, opening and closing around words they both know are  _wrong_  and fake. He looks surprised at the frankness. Kravitz wonders, perhaps not for the first time, if Taako had ever noticed… ever noticed  _anything_  recently.

Even as he thinks it, Kravitz knows the answer. Why would Taako ever need to?

“Krav, we…” Taako starts, then looks away, picking at the sheets nervously. “I think…”

“Whatever you need to say is fine, Taako,” Kravitz says gently, moving away from the door and perching on the foot of the bed. Carefully, slowly, and facing Taako. It seems as though tonight there will be no straightforward answers.

“No, I…” Taako sighs, takes a deep breath, starts again. “I’m sorry, Kravitz. I– There’s– I haven’t. I haven’t really been fair to you. Like, at all.”

Oh.

That’s… that’s not what Kravitz expected.

Kravitz expected the truth.

“Taako, that’s not your fault,” Kravitz puts his hands in his pockets. In his right pocket he keeps a key– it’s the key to their apartment. Slightly, ever so subtly, he presses it into his palm. He can just barely feel the cold metal against his skin. “I understand– I’ve told you this.”

“No, Krav.” Taako looks back at him and his gaze is  _sad_. Kravitz hasn’t ever seen  _this_  in Taako’s emotional swings. This hasn’t happened before. “I’ve been– that doesn’t matter, I guess. But you… You did what you had to, and I know this, and it’s not… Not fair to you. For me to…”

“Taako, you’re fine. It  _was_  my fault.”

“Kravitz, it  _wasn’t_.” Taako says, a little more firm and loud. “It  _wasn’t_ , and I’ve been– I’ve been a shithead to you and it’s been super not cool of me.”

“Taako, I–”

“No, listen, Krav–” Taako crosses his arms, suddenly, and some instinctive urge rushes over Kravitz. Some need to be beside him, to comfort him, to tell him things will be okay.

Kravitz doesn’t move.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened and– and the fact that you… Fuck, I don’t– Lup and Barry being reapers, and you trying to kill Lup, and… and I know it was just you trying and I  _know_  it won’t happen again and… And instead of trying to fix it I’ve been  _running away_  and just… being an asshole.

A-And with everything going on I just… Y’know, between Lup and just how things are and– and I just haven’t been fair to you. At all.”

It’s a lot more than Kravitz expected Taako to ever say or think.

It’s… it’s fucking  _nice_  to hear. Even if Taako’s wrong.

“Taako, you don’t have to say this,” Kravitz tells him– and he  _means_  it, he really does. “What’s happening– it’s partly  _my fault_ , Taako.”

“Well, in that case, we can blame all this shit on the Raven Queen, can’t we?”

Something like a trickle of ice runs down his spine and things  _pause_  in the air. Taako looks at Kravitz, a challenge in his eyes. The Queen is incredibly and pointedly quiet.

Kravitz simply doesn’t know what to say.

“Think about it,” Taako says with a smile that Kravitz can’t read. “We could blame the  _whole_  thing on her.”

Taako unfolds his arms and, with an odd laugh, crawls forward on the bed until he’s nearly  _inches_  from Kravitz. He’s oblivious to Kravitz trying not to flinch away. “Hear  _that_ , Missy?” He shouts, looking somewhere in Kravitz’s eyes. “ _This could all be your fault_.

 _Or_.”

And Taako sits back on his feet. Smiling like a fox. “ _Or_  it’s all Istus’s fault.

Or what about the Hunger, huh? It’s all  _his_  fault. Or maybe it’s just Merle’s fault– yeah, let’s call in  _Merle_ , because jeez, maybe if he was better in parley then none of this would have happened! And– oh, no, let’s get  _Lucretia_  in here!  _She’s_  obviously at fault, of course!”

Kravitz just watches him. Taako’s smile softens when he doesn’t respond– what  _is_  he supposed to respond? It’s the most Taako’s  _talked_  to him in  _months_. And… and he doesn’t understand.

“Krav. Don’t you get it?”

Slowly Taako inches forward and their knees are  _touching_. Taako’s face is flushed and there are bags under his eyes, making him seem so sunken. There’s no glamour charm and Kravitz searches his face but he can’t even tell the last time it was cast. His pajamas are fresh and new and his hair is pulled back, messy but clean.

Taako looks like a shadow of himself from this close. But, for the first time in months, Kravitz feels like he’s looking  _at Taako_.

He’s almost forgotten how beautiful he is.

“We could spend all fuckin’ day puttin’ blame on people. But– but there’s no one person at fault here, yeah? We’ve… Everybody’s made mistakes, Krav. Everybody’s got their own shit. And we can just… deal with it and go or we can, uh– well, we can do what I’ve been doing. Runnin’.”

Something unfurls in Kravitz’s chest at his words. Maybe it’s hope, maybe it’s wonder, it’s  _relief_  but maybe it’s… something else. He doesn’t know _what_  it is. But it feels like taking a deep breath of air. It feels like surfacing from some sort of darkness.

Because Taako’s right. Kravitz can’t dispute him, he can’t even  _try_ , because he  _knows_  he’s right. He’s known since Story and Song, he’s known since they first met– hell, he’s  _always_  known.

It’s his job to know. It’s his job to see things at a neutral point. It’s his job to watch life without blame.

It seems he forgot about this.

“I… suppose you’re right.” He doesn’t keep the smile from his face. Doesn’t even really try. “Though I don’t think the Queen would appreciate your accusatory words.”

Taako’s face changes completely. Confusion, then shock, then something like stunned surprise. This– okay, that probably wasn’t the right thing to say right then, was it? “Sorry,” Kravitz quickly mutters, looking away because yeah, that’s on him. Got a little too carried away in the stupidly elated,  _idiotic_  feeling of–

“Uh–” Taako stutters, quickly–

“ I’m sorry if– maybe you’re not up to this but uh–”

– And grasps at Kravitz’s chin, pushing their lips together with a sigh.

The sounds of a woman laughing echo somewhere far away, and Kravitz doesn’t bother pretending he won’t kiss back.

There’s no fire in it. There’s no heat, no ferocity– it’s not sweet and sticky like honey, it’s not slow and careful, it’s not urgent or lazy.

It’s warm. It’s a little like coming home.

“No more fake shit,” Taako whispers when they break apart, staring at each other with soft eyes. “No more blame. No more secrets, no more being assholes– none of it.”

“I’ll try, Taako.”

“Mm-mm.” Taako leans back in again, and it’s not as slow this time but it’s just as meaningful. “Yes or no.”

“Of course, Taako.”

-

That night, when Taako wakes up from a night terror, he has to get up and start pacing. He has to  _move_ , somehow. He can feel the blood in his veins, rushing clear red, pulsing from his heart.

And he says so.

Kravitz sits on the bed, quietly, and listens.

When Taako collapses on the bed again, Kravitz tells him things are okay. He whispers to him, brushes his hair back– gentle, calm, light– nuzzles into his neck and runs his hands through his hair. He tells him through deep breaths– Taako’s hand on his chest, mirroring the cadence– that they are safe, Lup is in the other room, the world continues, and things are okay.

 _Things are okay_ , he says, and he really thinks it true.

-

In the morning, Taako receives a call on his stone of farspeech.

And when he jumps out of bed to run to the laboratory to see Lup’s new body, he pulls Kravitz along with him.


	25. Chapter 25

When Taako and Kravitz arrive in the laboratory Lucas Miller is standing off to the side, awkwardly checking something on his clipboard, Lucretia is speaking to someone on her stone of farspeech, and Lup and Barry are rather passionately making out.

They promptly pull apart when Taako kicks in the door. Barry’s face flushes a deep red and he sputters something, avoiding Kravitz’s eyes.

Lup doesn’t have any such shame.

She rushes forward and she’s crying before she and Taako even embrace. Her face is flushed and her movements are somehow both stiff and extravagant, like she doesn’t remember how to exist in a physical body. But what she lacks in strength Taako makes up for in his tight, firm grip.

Together the twins sink to the floor and Taako’s hands are shaking as they touch  _everywhere_. They run through her hair, shining and clean and they touch her face, smooth and tear-stricken. Taako looks into her eyes and sees  _his_  eyes staring back at him, squinted, crying, and laughing.

They grasp at each other and for just one moment, Kravitz sees the blend of two souls, beautiful and complete. They light up the room, palpable to an extremity. Kravitz sees the chips in Taako’s soul fill with  _Lup_  and all she is– her crimson and gold soul, muffled with a physical body but still strong.

Kravitz sees this for only a moment before turning away.

It’s not his to witness.

He looks at the floor but it’s still impossible to not hear the shaking breaths and disbelieving laughter. It’s impossible to not feel out of place, out of time, and in the dark.

That’s fine with him, though. It’s not his to feel.

So he waits– he waits with Barry and they don’t look at each other but Kravitz can hear him, as well. He understands why they stand there as the door beckons behind them. Neither of them want to leave– both of them are afraid of what would happen if they did.

It takes so long– it takes minutes of tears and sniffling and laughter– before everything dies away.  

Kravitz still waits, keeping his eyes averted; he waits for Taako to tug on his arm, he waits for someone to  _say_  something. He’s not going to rush Taako– of  _course_  not–

And, quiet suddenly, a body knocks into his and two shaking arms wrap around his middle.

Kravitz blinks rapidly and steadies the body attached to him, stunned and confused. Taako laughs somewhere, distantly.

And Lup smiles up at Kravitz with the brightness of the sun.

-

It was as if something had aligned,  _finally_ , and the broken pieces of a smashed plate were mended.

With Lup’s body comes a stability that Kravitz doesn’t know how to explain. He simply leans back and observes the changes, unbelievably thankful.

It made no sense to him, but Lup having a physical body scraped off a layer of Taako’s anxious, hardened shell. He no longer looks to the door when Lup enters, wary eyes flicking between it and Kravitz. He no longer demands Barry be with her at every moment.

He no longer cries as much as he did.

When Kravitz comes back from work he doesn’t flinch. When they brush against each other he doesn’t shy away. When the darkness becomes too much for Taako and he has to turn over in bed to turn on the light, he no longer yelps at the sight of Kravitz.

The morning after Lup gets her body back, Kravitz wakes up to kisses running down his neck.

The fragility of Taako slowly, bit by bit, stabilizes.

There are some days that things remain how they had settled. There are some days that Taako locks himself in the bathroom, shuddering and hacking, and Kravitz waits outside of the door. There are days that Kravitz holds his hair back in front of the sink.

There are days that Taako crumbles at the slightest touch.

But, somehow, there’s revivals for the falls.

Lup stays at their apartment more often than not, along with Barry. They sleep on the couch or the floor or, frankly, wherever they can. It’s not comfortable to  _look_  at, but Lup refuses to leave. Every day she tells Taako– every day there’s a different variation of  _I’ll never leave, never again, I promise_.

She slowly adjusts in her new body. It’s like watching a newborn animal find its legs– she stumbles and has to grasp at tables and the backs of chairs. It’s impossible to stifle and hide, though she tries for so long to be  _okay_  for Taako. She passes her hands in the shadows as they walk together, a touch on the wall to steady herself. Barry says nothing about it.

Kravitz hears them, one night, through the cracked open bedroom door. Pausing in the hallway he hears their whispers– he hears Taako, quiet and soft.

He hears words that make his breath catch and his heart fill with warmth.

He hears that  _it’s okay to not be okay_.

He hears that  _it’s okay to fall apart_.

He hears that  _it’s okay to not be strong_.

The words aren’t exactly those, and they’re not for him, and he hears a voice, pitched higher, laugh sadly. But Kravitz takes them for himself regardless.

It becomes more sporadic and random, but sometimes it’s as if things hadn’t changed for him.

He wakes up some days and can’t smell whatever Taako and Lup cook in the kitchen. The sheets, heavy and thick, lay like feathers on his body. When he takes an afternoon or so and visits Magnus (he had started to get calls from the man early on, saying that he was being missed by a certain canine)  he can just barely feel the hug that he’s greeted with.

For a while, the worst days become the days he has to go to work.

The first day he goes back to work with Barry and Lup in tow, Taako calls Lup over the stone of farspeech within fifteen minutes.

They hadn’t been doing anything in the field– it was simply practice in viewing souls without bias to remember their purpose. Yet Lup had rushed back to Taako at the first word. There was the question as to who needed to be with the other more left to linger, unspoken, between Kravitz and Barry.

Small steps, however.

Fifteen minutes turn to two hours.

Two hours turn to five.

And time moves forward.

But the guilt still eats at Kravitz, tearing and gnawing at his soul with claws that bleed  _regret_  and  _what if_ s. For every time he hears Lup comfort Taako over her stone of farspeech, or every time Barry stares at an innocent soul, something sad and distant swirling behind his gaze, Kravitz is reminded of what the mistake he’s doomed to others.

Barry and Lup tell him that it’s not that bad. But they’re so young. They’ll learn.

Watching them is as fascinating as it is oddly grounding. They see the world in  _colors_ – they want to know  _everything_  about the rhythm of the heart and how it drums. They want to know about the Queen and the hum they can now feel beneath their fingers. They want to know about the blood they bleed, the fresh life they can feel, the light that filters through their eyes, open and without a smokescreen.

Kravitz tells them. He tells them everything he knows and things he can only guess at. He leads them to those they love and shows them how they work– the small gears that turn within their soul, the small ticks that keep them running. He shows them how to see the rusted bits and the whole, new parts.

Then he goes home and looks around and the only thing that shines is the lamp that Taako left on for him in the living room.

Some days it’s depressing.

More often than not it spreads a tired smile on his face and guides him to Taako’s lips.

-

The Bureau rebuilds after Story and Song quickly and every time Kravitz passes in the halls he’s impressed at the rate. It’s because of the contribution of everyone– nearly  _everyone_  who had fought had stayed to help after the battle, if only for at least a few hours. Mountains of rubble turned to a pile of garbage and broken rooms simply became dirty messes.

There’s something to be said, Kravitz thinks to himself with every passing scene, for how mortals use their time.

Something about what they can accomplish with dedication and determination.

He’s not sure what is to be said, and he doesn’t lose sleep over it.

-

Magnus is the first to move out of the Bureau and it causes something of a tremor in the routine of things.

It wasn’t as if Kravitz or Taako really saw him on a daily basis, or particularly kept up to speed of what he had been doing in terms of restoration. And, if anything, Kravitz’s reaction when Magnus told him was nothing but positive.

It’s good to move on, he tells him. There is only so much time in a life.

And Magnus tells him that he needs to tell Johann the dog goodbye.

(He does.)

But Taako doesn’t sleep that night. He stays up and asks if Kravitz knows  _where_  Magnus went.

Taako heard Magnus and he heard where he said he was going. But where  _is_  he? Did he make it there okay? Is he safe?

They visit a week after Magnus calls over the stone and says that he’s arrived safely. Taako doesn’t like the chill of Raven’s Roost. Johann the dog is exceptionally happy at the company.

And Magnus himself is happy.

He says it’s odd to move on, and that sometimes his thoughts create spider webs in his head and stay hung for hours. Over a bottle of wine one late night, Magnus confesses that sometimes he misses the mess. Sometimes the ignorance was better than the confusion, and that things were easier to follow when there was simply one life he lived.

Kravitz doesn’t understand his ramblings sometimes. But he understands when Magnus tells him that he doesn’t blame Lucretia for any of it.

He understands when Magnus looks at the loneliness of the town he stays in, the rubble of the houses he once laughed within, and the years of work ahead of him and says that he’s well and truly happy.

Kravitz can say the same, after all.

-

A month after Magnus leaves, Merle does.

Davenport doesn’t leave. Neither do Carey and Killian– not for a while.

It’s not a question to if Lup and Barry move in with Taako and Kravitz. They buy one of those connecting houses– Taako and Kravitz take the left and Lup and Barry take the right, though it’s quick to notice that the wall between them means nothing.

It’s oddly  _final_  for Kravitz to look around a house and call it his own.

As if this is the last stage for him– to buy a house and move in with a loved one, wasn’t that always the end game for mortals?– when, in reality, this house won’t mean anything to him in time.

He sometimes thinks about how one day, in the very far future, these walls won’t mean anything to him. The evenings they all spend on their hands and knees, painting over a living room to a shade of beige, will be wasted and washed away. The kitchen cabinets that Taako complains about for a month before Magnus comes out and fixes them– they won’t make a mark on his consciousness.

There will be the empty halls and the ghosts of shouts and laughter. There will be empty bedrooms and dusty sheets and rotted strawberries.

The rhubarb will be all used up, stem to stalk.

But if there’s one thing that Kravitz has learned from his job, it’s to remain slow– to curate an appreciation of time and wherever it lands.

So he doesn’t think far ahead. He doesn’t think of the dust.

Instead he stops at a market on his way home from work to buy flowers for the empty vase on the kitchen table.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this is it.  
> The last chapter.  
> I have about two epilogue chapters planned, so watch out for those, but... this is It, fellas.  
> I'll write out something long and emotional later, but thank you for everyone who has read this fic. So many good and wonderful things have come out of it-- not only for me but for you, the readers, and this fic has truly become something of its own nature. It's so much more special than I ever predicted it to be.  
> Thank you all so much.

It’s the golden light that falls heavily upon the bed frame, warranting some sort of silence in the rustic room, that wakes them. It’s that promise of a new day, the opportunities and events that lie within it. That in just a few hours things will be in full swing and there will be people everywhere, smiling and laughing and dancing. Joyous welcomes will be exchanged and lights will fall upon bright faces and gifts will be given and strewn about on the dewy grass..

The sunlight will become lithe and thin, and the blue sky will become overbearing. The sea will become restless to join the ceremonies and the dances, and the breeze will swirl through people’s hairs and flutter flowers with the energy of a sparrow.

But, for right then, things are quiet.

And everything is still.

A bureau stands in the corner of this room, thrown open but untouched. Clothes are strewn around it and hung within. It’s somewhere between the mess unpacking makes and the simple mess of a messy person. Gold sequins do not move, they do not roar with the noise of a club at night. Holographic sparkles do not move in the still light. Color-changing pants remain gray.

Makeup lays untouched on the vanity mirror, full of potential. It’s old and it was bought so many years ago but the colors are still vibrant and beautiful.

A dress and a suit lay on the edge of the bed. The dress is white and short, with long sleeves made of mesh and a skirt of taffeta. Blue flowers, small and intricate, are woven into the fabric. Laying on top of the neck is a wicker sun hat, a forget-me-not tucked inside of its folds.

The suit is black in typical fashion. The threads are clean and pressed, not a crease out of place. Subtle small golden chains hang from the breast pocket and loop into themselves. They glimmer in the sunlight, nearly glowing, and cast reflections on the wall.

The reflected light wanders on the wall as the suit is shifted when the sheets rustle.

(In the morning things are slow.)

A hand ghosts over a shoulder like the whisper of a breeze. Fingers slowly curl into silken hair and play with strands, turning them over gently. The sheets rustle more as a body is moved closer to another and a cold nose is pressed into the skin of a collarbone. A sigh is folded into the morning sounds, breathless and soft.

The morning light dances around skin, through threads of sheets, and the dress falls off the bed.

_ “Good morning”,  _ someone whispers.

_ “I love you”,  _ someone else whispers.

Footsteps sound outside the door, a bit hurried as they make their way past the room frozen in time. Someone speaks and slams a door down the hallway, and from outside there are feet crunching on gravel and people whispering.

The world is in motion and time slowly starts again, ticking away with the sound of two knitting needles tapping together.

_ “We have to get up,”  _ someone whispers.

_ “The stupid sauce can finish itself,” _ someone whispers back.

Against the comfort of everything a body pushes itself up, the sheets draping off its figure, and someone groans unintelligibly and mumbles, “come  _ back _ .”

“Taako, come on.” Kravitz sits back on his heels, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes. Already he thinks about what there is to do-- the things to come that day, the chaos of everything, all the  _ people _ and his part in everything. 

He still doesn’t know how he was invited as someone who  _ wasn’t _ a plus one to Taako.

He supposes it started with the polite conversations he exchanged with them while Taako had to speak to Lucretia for something. Sitting in the chairs outside her room, conjuring a book-- something hundreds of years old, in a language he could only slightly still understand. He only expected to be sat there for a few minutes while Taako exchanged quick pleasantries and got his work briskly.

But Carey and Killian had sat next to him, waiting to report on something to Lucretia. It was Carey that asked him what he was reading, and though he was the only one there it took him a few moments to really gather that she was talking to  _ him _ .

They had a conversation that Killian jumped into after a while-- after they moved past the language the book was written in to the content of the book-- and it was odd for him. He’d made conversation before with  _ hundreds _ of people.

Hundreds of targets, rather.

(And a few people that Taako knew.)

However Carey and Killian didn’t bring up Taako. They talked only about the book, which wandered to literature in general. They actually asked for Kravitz’s name as Taako exited the room, and they were surprised to see Taako lace his fingers with Kravitz’s.

Killian was very excited to suggest double dates.

Care was very excited to suggest going out to coffee with Kravitz.

She said he was an interesting fellow, and she hadn’t met a lot of interesting fellows in her life. ( _ “It’s why I’m marrying Killian _ ,” she joked.) She wanted to know more about him--- and so did Killian, who started joining their meetups before long.

Things expanded, and Kravitz didn’t know how, and he still doesn’t. Before long they had “their table” at the coffee place they’d go to. Before long he had a spare key to their apartment (it was to watch over their cats while they were away for a weekend, but they never asked for it back). Before long he sat down with them, both of them beaming excitedly and laughing as they showed off two gorgeous diamond rings.

Before long, he was invited to their wedding. 

He and Taako were given the same hotel room, but they were sent two different wedding invitations.

Kravitz isn’t sure how it happened, but it did, and it lead him here. 

He stretches and fixes his shirt by habit, not bothering to even assess his hair at the moment. He watches Taako pull the covers up over his head, wisps of messy hair poking from underneath. It’s endearing, to say the least. 

Things have been busy with everyone lately-- it wasn’t so often that they ever got to bed together. More recently it had been someone coming home late and sleeping on the couch, not wanting to wake the other, or someone managing to sneak into the bed and falling asleep only a few hours before the other had to wake. Things were hard to align-- Kravitz kept up their Friday date nights barely, even if they were simply in the living room and the entertainment was both of them reading, curled against each other. 

Taako’s school was taking off, and Kravitz’s work did not wait for anything.

Even so, even though last night had been the first night they were able to fall asleep together, Kravitz was proud of Taako and he wouldn’t have had things turn out any differently.

Kravitz got to watch as Taako solidified and gathered himself. Nights spent on the kitchen floor, shaking and cold, turned to nights spent at  _ his _ college, finalizing paperwork and drafting ideas. Days of sticking to the strict mental routine of  _ no food after 7 p.m. _ turned to Taako coming home late and making himself cereal at midnight. 

The pride of seeing that progress rivals no other feeling.

Of course, that’s not to say there were no longer nights such as the former. But they had become less frequent, less violent, less  _ draining _ for both of them. Taako had learned, and he had grown, and he still  _ is _ growing.

So is Kravitz.

The infrequency of these bad nights taught him that perhaps, on a very singular off chance, that they aren’t his fault. Days that he comes home with flowers do not connect to the breakdowns that could happen. Quiet days spent on the couch with Taako’s sleeping face under his arm do not mean that there will be no shivering at the sight of food and retching at the smell of certain ingredients.

It’s not something that Kravitz causes. It’s not his fault. It’s not even  _ Taako’s _ fault.

And Kravitz ponders, for a while, whose fault it is then. He wonders if it’s Istus that causes Taako to feel the way he does-- he wonders if it’s the universe and what she’s made of it. He tries to find an answer, and he’s not sure why. It may be that he  _ needs _ someone to blame, someone to take revenge on, someone that makes Taako feel this way.

It’s only one night that Kravitz wakes up from a  _ nightmare _ \-- his first since he was alive-- that he gets his answer.

He wakes up that night completely numb and  _ weightless _ , eyes wide and chest stilled. He could feel nothing but the cold from the empty space in his chest-- that place where his beating heart should have been keeping him warm. That empty space that he wanted to fill with  _ something-- _ he closed his eyes and looked inside himself and tried so hard to fit whatever was left his soul he could find into this space. He tried to expand himself, to let him feel some warmth, to let him  _ be _ something _ , _ something other than the night sky that he was part of when the nurse told him his brother had died.

Taako woke up next to him, slowly, and he was scared and confused. But he pried Kravitz’s fingers from his chest, for they were clutching at his shirt with such strength and desperation, and he told him none of it was real, he was awake now, there is nothing there to hurt him, none of it was  _ real _ .

Kravitz didn’t have anything within him to dispute and explain the dream to Taako.

Long after Kravitz started to breathe again, he still could not feel when Taako rubbed his back, pet his hair, held his hand-- but he heard Taako. He heard his words, what they  _ meant _ \--

And he heard Taako curse the Raven Queen, for  _ how could she do this to him? _

And that’s when he understood.

It was hard to not blame anyone for how the world worked. It was hard to recognize things as  _ events _ , rather than good or bad happenings bestowed as curses or blessings.

Kravitz asked the Queen, one day, if this was the truth of things. He asked her if he was right in his passive approach to things. If, perhaps, he had cracked the puzzle.

She asked him why he thought she knew the answer.

“They can all  _ wait. _ Postpone it.”

Kravitz learned one thing with the Queen that day-- the way of life was unpredictable, terrifying, able to be determined by  _ anything, _ and completely and utterly lovely.

He slips off the bed in the current moment, pulling the covers off as he goes, and he smiles at Taako’s grip tightening. “ _ Taako.” _

Taako huffs, covers halfway off, and finally sits up. His hair is knotted from pure sleep and there are bags under his eyes and his shirt is more than slightly askew. He’s never been a peaceful sleeper-- nightmares or none, Taako usually woke up on the wrong side of the bed, halfway draped on Kravitz and halfway already on the floor.

“ _ Look _ at this,” he grumbles, yawning and stretching. Kravitz watches the way the corners of his eyes crinkle and he watches his ears twitch and flatten. “D’you think if Rapunzel woke up like this--”

He’s cut off when Kravitz leans across the bed and catches his mouth in a kiss.

Taako’s ears perk and he leans into the touch after a moment, and Kravitz smiles when Taako’s hand comes up to grab weakly at his shirt. He leans back, for just a moment, to whisper something-- instead he laughs as Taako whispers something like “ _ nope”  _ and kisses him again.

He’s not stronger than Kravitz by any means, but when Taako pulls him closer Kravitz follows the touch and leans into the kiss.

Taako smiles against him and when they break apart he looks at Kravitz with something sly in his eye. “You’re a hypocrite.”

“Am I?”

“Tellin’ me to get out of bed and  _ you _ just want to get back in it.”

He gestures with his hand and Kravitz does truly wonder when he climbed back on the bed and held himself over Taako. It’s a mystery to him. He really doesn’t know.

“Those are dirty tricks, my dear.” He kisses Taako once more, quickly, before climbing back off the bed. “I will not be fooled by such trickery.”

“Sure you will,” Taako laughs, propping himself up on the bed again. “I had you thinkin’ mayonnaise was made of whale j--”

“In my defense!” He interrupts with a smile, “ _ I  _ couldn’t taste it, and Barry had the  _ same _ reaction as me!”

Taako starts to laugh, a high cackle piercing their quiet space, and Kravitz wonders when what he just said became  _ normal _ to laugh at.

Because, well, he’s laughing, too.

It’s a nice reminder to be grateful of everything-- moments like these make him notice the fabric of Taako’s dress as he picks it up, the way it flows from his fingers as he tosses it to him. He takes a moment to smell what’s around him-- to acknowledge the wooden walls and the flowers potted by the windowsill. 

He picks up his own suit and he’s filled with that same love he feels, always-- the love of being  _ here _ . 

The two of them start dressing, Taako a bit quicker than him and already sitting himself in front of the vanity mirror, picking up powders and eye  _ things  _ \-- eye shames? Shackles? What did Taako call them?-- and getting to work. Kravitz watches him, still working through his tie. He knows how to tie a tie, of course, but he wants to be stuck there. He wants to feel the silk, and he watches to watch Taako work, and he wants to take everything in.

The funny part about that particular feeling is that he feels it with  _ every _ moment he lives through.

It’s a special feeling to be alive.

Kravitz doesn’t think he’d exchange it for anything.

There are times that his mind wanders and thinks of it all. There are times he watches Taako move and shake and flitter around the kitchen aimlessly but in a panic. There are times that he sees just how tired and worn Magnus is. There are times that Lup grabs at his cloak because she doesn’t want him to go after a bounty in some cave, dark and void of sound, because  _ she _ is terrified for him. There are times that Kravitz sees Lucretia, just in passing as he walks through the halls of the Bureau, hidden in an empty room and staring at her hands-- simply  _ staring _ and nothing more.

There are times that Kravitz feels guilt. Guilt that wrenches him from anything that happens around him, tearing him from the moment, reminding him of it  _ all-- _ the souls he takes and the mistakes he’s made. He thinks about how he’ll never  _ truly _ be part of Taako’s life, for he’s not  _ alive _ . He thinks about how he does not belong in this life he lives, not by a long shot.

And not  _ despite _ \--  _ even with _ those moments he is in love with existing.

He finishes getting ready and just watches Taako-- he watches him paint art on his face with all of these products, and though it’s not particularly dramatic and it’s not particularly bright, Kravitz loves it. For this is not a charm, this is not something to hide behind, this is not for  _ Kravitz _ and he knows it.

“If you keep staring I’ll fuck up,” Taako says under his breath, trying to glue eyelashes to his eyelids.

“I don’t think so,” Kravitz replies, leaning on the bed. “You haven’t in over a year.”

“Harr harr, you suave idio,” Taako glares at him playfully through the mirror’s reflection, pinching his lashes together. “Don’t you have, like, somewhere to  _ be _ ?”

“Am I such a tarnish on your concentration?”

“ _ Yes. _ Fuck off.”

Kravitz smiles when he shrugs and turns to leave and Taako catches hold of his shirt with the hand not holding his lashes. “I didn’t mean _leave_ \- leave.”

“Did you not? Because I  _ just _ bought tickets for the next train out of town.”

Taako lets go of his shirt and Kravitz moves towards him, drawn by instinct to start pulling his fingers through Taako’s hair. Taako huffs in response but leans back into his hands a bit, still holding his lashes. “You’re insufferable. I  _ hate _ that you’re a morning person.”

“Well, I am the Grim Reaper. I’m always a  _ mourn _ ing person.”

“Oh my gods.” Taako looks up at him, lash finally glued on, and his face holds a mix of horror, exasperation, and  _ disgust  _ and Kravitz can’t help but laugh. “Oh my  _ gods. _ That was so bad. You’re  _ awful _ .”

“I try,” he grins, leaning down once more to kiss Taako on the cheek. 

“You don’t, though, and that’s the horrible part.”

Taako stands and it’s at that moment that someone knocks at their door, sharp and accompanied by a familiar voice shouting, “ _ Paging chef Taako! You better be ready! _ ”

“ _ I’m always ready, Maggie! Who do you think I am?!” _ Taako calls back, turning once more back to Kravitz to mumble, “How long do these damn people think it takes to make a sauce?”

He clears a few things from his makeup station in a flurry of motion, definitely not particularly ready to go make sauce. “Okay, go like-- are you gonna be good?” He asks quickly, making finishing touches with his makeup. 

“Of course, Taako.”

“Great, excellent-o, perfect,” Taako twirls and presses himself close to Kravitz for one last kiss before finally hurrying out of the room, slipping out the door and quipping something at Magnus as he does.

And Kravitz is left to his own devices.

But, for some reason, that’s not daunting.

He exits the room a little while after and simply starts wandering away from the hotel room, aimlessly observing what he sees and who he passes. It’s a feeling of almost being secure-- of having the knowledge that  _ someone _ will come to get him  _ somewhere _ , and until then he is free to do as he pleases.

He depends on knowing that he  _ knows _ these people. As he exits the main lobby of the hotel he sees Lucretia and waves to her. She’s looking well these days-- she’s in a blue dress that makes her look younger than she is, and when she smiles at him it looks genuine. 

Standing beside her is Davenport, who Kravitz has played cards with offhandedly at a few family gatherings. He calls out a fair greeting and Kravitz returns the gesture. He’s an interesting man, and he tells wonderful stories-- Kravitz always gets postcards from him from all over the world.

He keeps going through the lobby, however-- it’s too crowded and too many things are happening for him to be there.

It’s a short walk to where the main ceremony will be taking place, and though it’s in only a few hours there are still some last-minute prep going on. People are moving beautiful white flowers, lilies and roses dyed to their stems and wrapped in light blue silk, into the large building before him. It’s really a beautiful venue for such beautiful people; the sea shines and reflects the early sun and Kravitz pauses, stands completely still just for a moment, to smell the salt and how it carries by the wind.

He’s never been to a wedding before. 

Kravitz opens the doors to the side room of the temple. The temple itself is made of stone, something old that Kravitz isn’t sure even  _ he _ was around for. And the room he enters into -- it’s some sort of waiting area, but not one for the main hall, but it’s still decorated and beautiful. The decorations are rustic and speckled with flecks of blue and white and there’s flowers tucked into seemingly random places.

It’s nothing professionally done. He should know-- Kravitz helped set it all up last night. It was a messy process-- Killian had a semblance of what she wanted done, and Carey just wanted everything to be done and set up however. So, at nearly nine o’clock at night, a few people (all volunteers) gathered around the temple and, in a last-minute flurry, decorated the temple.

It ended up having some sort of aesthetic of its own.

Lucretia, Lup, Kravitz, Carey, Killian, Davenport, and Avi were left sitting on the temple’s floor at midnight, exhausted but incredibly pleased.

Carey had looked around the room, kissed Killian, then thanked them. She said it was ragtag, it was off-center and slightly very much  _ not _ what she wanted-- and she said that is was definitely perfect, and that she wouldn’t change a thing.

Kravitz agreed with her.

He admires the decorations for a bit and his mind is oddly blank. Sitting on one of the armchairs in the room he feels as though he’s still  _ waiting. _ Observing passively and waiting, but it’s not impatience that fills his head. It’s contentedness. 

It’s happiness. Excitement. Love.

But not for the world, not at that moment. It’s simple love-- it’s love for what was to come that afternoon, nothing more. There is nothing complex to think about in that moment; there are no things to solve, no problems to fix, no particular  _ thing _ or  _ reason _ happening. 

It’s nice. It’s grounding.

He’s not Death, not in that moment. He’s not a reaper. He’s not ageless and timeless, old and wise, invincible and immortal-- he’s nothing of import.

He’s Kravitz, a man who could be in his late twenties, and he’s at his friends’ wedding. 

Kravitz sits there for a while. Perhaps it would have looked odd to anyone else-- a Reaper sitting in an armchair, staring at nothing for a wooden fireplace with flowers in place of the logs-- but he doesn’t really mind. It’s pleasant to sit in his own feelings. To acknowledge them and be thankful for them and not look so  _ deep _ into them.

He simply exists. He feels, he loves, and he hurts, and that’s all there is to it.

It’s a few solid minutes before anyone else enters the room and it’s Barry, who gives Kravitz a curious smile when he notices him.

“Just… waiting, I guess?”

“That’s all there is to do,” Kravitz shrugs, a little aware now of how odd he might look.

“Well… I suppose. But, uh, the ceremony is about to start. I was gonna grab the twins.”

Barry’s an odd fellow, Kravitz knows. He sleeps with jeans on (he knows this courtesy of Lup) and he doesn’t ever drink water because he doesn’t like the “taste”. He likes the concept of necromancy and bone structures of things  _ fascinate _ him but muscular related things make him squeamish-- he doesn’t drink coffee because of a convincing conspiracy theory he once read, he doesn’t like crowds but is generally okay at public speaking, he’s allergic to cats that are hypoallergenic-- 

And he never truly invites anyone anywhere  _ directly. _

So Kravitz goes with him.

He smells the sauce as they get closer-- he smells how brilliant is it in only the way  _ Taako _ can make it. It drives him forward as he lets it carry him, almost lost in such a simple sensation, when Barry clears his throat and speaks.

“So, you excited for your, uh, vacation?”

“I suppose,” he answers, after a moment. He hasn’t thought about it a lot due to the wedding and helping out with that, but it  _ has _ been in the back of his mind for a while. It wasn’t anything particularly fancy or romantic, but it was something he wanted to try.

It’s been a theory that the Queen has solidified to him as a fact-- that mortals can see souls if they try hard enough.

And Kravitz wants to show Taako just exactly how beautiful he is.

“Don’t you think the Astral Plane is a bit  _ macabre _ ?” He jokes, rounding a corner and nearing further to the kitchen.

“I’m the  _ Grim Reaper _ , Barry. Of  _ course _ it’s macabre.” 

Barry laughs and nods.

The scene inside the kitchen is unusually tidy. Normally when Taako cooks there is something of a hurricane-- something so messy but organized, aesthetically pleasing to only Taako. Sometimes a radio plays, sometimes Taako’s in his pajamas, sometimes the window is open as it rains. But today there is practically nothing on the counters. There are no dirty dishes, there are no half-opened ingredients.

There’s just a bowl of sauce, incredibly large and sat upon most of the stove, and a single spoon in it. There’s no other food on the counter at all.

Only Lup and Taako are in the kitchen, and when Barry pokes his head around the corner and calls them to the ceremony, Lup takes a taste of the sauce before quipping something to Taako.

And Taako smiles up at him, but he doesn’t move.

“Alright there?” Kravitz asks, and Taako nods, turning back to the sauce.

“Yeah… yeah, I think I am.”

And Kravitz believes him.

There’s something about the way Taako  _ says _ it, thought. There’s something still longing in Taako’s eyes-- something that draws Kravitz closer on impulse and something that makes him place his hands on Taako’s and  _ something _ that makes Kravitz lean down and kiss him.

It’s love, Kravitz thinks. It’s always been love.

They stand there together, ignoring the footsteps that sound in the hallway, all headed towards the temple’s main room. They ignore someone who sticks their head around the corner, they ignore the soup starting to bubble, they ignore everything. 

Kravitz breathes with the kiss, he whispers it, he lets Taako know everything-- everything that Taako can see, everything that Kravitz  _ feels _ now, how in love with it all he is. He’s not sure when things became meaningful, he’s not sure when things started to  _ matter _ to him, when happiness was something he not only sought but was  _ given _ .

The occasion is nothing special. But it doesn’t  _ have _ to be, not anymore.

They break apart and Kravitz just wants to spend the rest of his time alive staring at Taako’s eyes, so beautiful and bright and lively, and he wants to just look at Taako’s face-- his lips, his forehead, his ears, his hair,  _ everything. _ He just wants to stand in that kitchen and let Taako know that he  _ loves _ him, well and truly, and…

And he wants to let Taako know that for the choices he has made there is no regret.

But there are the sounds of someone running down the hallway, and Kravitz remembers that he has all the time left in the world to tell him.

“Don’t miss it, okay?” He whispers instead, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Taako’s ear just to get an excuse to touch him and feel him again. “They’re definitely going to want you there.”

He doesn’t give a damn about what anybody in that alter room would think. 

He wants Taako beside him  _ always _ . He wants him to see the love he has for everything.

“Of course. Give me ten,” Taako says back, seemingly a little dazed and breathless from the kiss. “Still got-- got this  _ rad _ , um, soup-- sauce-- to do.”

And normally Kravitz wouldn’t-- but when Taako offers him a spoon to taste, he takes it. And he can taste every bit of salt-- every sweet tomato, every clove of garlic, every bit of oregano and ground black pepper and every onion and-- and it’s only a little bit, only a taste, but he can  _ taste _ it.

He’s too happy to let Taako know how good it is. He’s too happy to see the smile that splits Taako’s face.

“I’m really looking forward to next week,” he ends up saying, because the concept of being with that smile alone for a while is more than enchanting.

“Me too,” Taako says, gravitating a bit closer to him.

“I promise not to take you anywhere too spooky,” Kravitz mumbles as Taako presses up against him and  _ smiles _ up at him, and Kravitz likes to think that Taako knows what he’s trying to say. He likes to think Taako can see who he is.

“You know what-- I’m a big boy. I’ll be fine.”

Kravitz has so much faith in him.

He leans down once more and kisses him again just to let him know.

“I know you are. I’ll save you a seat out there.” 

\--

 

  
  
**_Griffin:_ ** _ You see Angus, who puts down a large book as you walk by, and he looks like he’s about to tear up already, and he’s sitting with Mavis and Mookie, and Mookie tries to stand up on the bench that they’re all sitting on and bounce up and down, but Mavis grabs his hand and pulls him back down the bench and she gives you a thumbs up. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ And you see Lucretia sitting in the front row with the rest of the Bureau employees in attendance, and she just smiles softly and makes eye contact with you, Merle, and she lifts her hand up to her heart for a few seconds, and she puts it down. And you see Lup, and she’s got her arm around Barry, and she makes this big gesture and flashes an ‘Okay’ symbol at you and she winks, and Barry kinda chuckles. _ _   
_ _   
_ __ Sitting next to them are Taako and Kravitz, and Taako, just as things are about to start, Kravitz reaches down and takes your hand in his, and it’s warm. And the two of you lock eyes for a while as Kravitz smiles, and he turns his eyes back toward the lectern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line that started it all should end it all:  
> "Sitting next to them are Taako and Kravitz, and Taako, just as things are about to start, Kravitz reaches down and takes your hand in his, and it’s warm."  
> Over 72k of words inspired by Griffin McElroy and one sentence that he said offhandedly.   
> Funny how things work out that way.


	27. Prologue p.1

He thinks he can see weird colors, sometimes.

Which sounds stupid if he tries to explain it to his friends-- and that’s not his anxiety saying so, it’s quite simply that he  _ has _ tried to explain it to his friends in the past. He’s tried to explain that it’s not just  _ colors _ he sees-- they’re colors, sure, but they’re also  _ moods _ and  _ feelings  _ and… and almost something like  _ auras _ .

His friends say it’s a load of stupid nonsense and that he, coincidentally, only says these thoughts when he’s drunk. 

They’re not wrong, and Kravitz agrees. But he still believes that if he could properly articulate what he means, that if he could get them to  _ understand, _ they’d agree, too. 

They used to ask him to explain. It wasn’t that they are close-minded, or they don’t  _ want _ to understand. It’s just so abstract. He doesn’t blame them for not understanding.

Afternoons he’d spend at the bar, late into the night with those people, words and topics slurring to a lagotto conversation that went in circles in their blurred visions. He’d try to get words in-- his vision would mist over and he’d try to explain the  _ orange _ he felt above the barmaid’s head and the dark purple of the dying dance floor and the dark, dark maroon of their energy fading to the drunken stupor. 

And they’d look around and nod, not understanding but  _ trying  _ to, which meant a lot to him. They hummed and one of them would comment  _ this is just a load of shit. _

_ ‘S not, asshole _ , someone would reply.

_ Rav’s got a point, I think,  _ someone would put in, arm hung around his shoulders.  _ I think the floor’s brown. _

_ That’s because it is. _

You’ve _ got a point. _

It was half-assed, and it was pointless, and it never went anywhere, but that wasn’t for lack of trying.

Eventually Kravitz gave up. Eventually he learned to  keep those thoughts to himself. Eventually he accepted that colors-- these ones in particular-- only existed for him. He didn’t tell his friends about the red woman he once saw on the dancefloor, or the purple stranger he talked to for a few hours last week. He didn’t tell them how some of  _ them _ were golden, just hours before the sun came out and blessed the sky.

He kept these thoughts in his head.   

But they never died.

Kravitz thinks the farm is green.

He feels stupid just  _ thinking _ it because of  _ course _ the farm is green. It’s a  _ farm _ , and it’s almost his second nature to assume that other people would associate green with it as well. But it’s not even due to the plants that grow like gridwork, or the way that the field, if anybody squints, just becomes a massive block of literal green.  

The whole farm actually has a color scheme of light blues, in fact. The house is a baby blue color and the bricks that build the shed next to it are  _ just _ washed out enough to be a faded maroon that matches. The roofs are a darker blue, the barn is made of wood and has a deep, rich brown color. 

The sea that stretches off in the distance, about a mile or two away from the barn, is a dark blue as well. It shades the sky’s blue and mirrors the hues that paint across it twice a day.

Thinking practically about it, the farm should be  _ blue _ . The only green lies in the plants, and even then they grow berries, which are  _ red  _ and orange and blue and purple and every color in between _.  _ Only the rhubarb is green, though at the base it’s red as well.

But blue, to Kravitz, doesn’t  _ fit _ . It’s like putting the wrong shoe on the wrong foot. Like trying to write left-handed, or mounting a horse from the right side, or turning on the oven  _ after  _ making the batter. There’s something off about it.

Green fits better. 

It’s because green is more  _ fresh _ . It’s lighter than blue-- like one of those songs that’s staccato and airy and has  _ lively  _ written as part of the score. Lots of flute and notes played how a deer prances in the forest. Green is for the way the air is; crisp and warm but never  _ humid _ and heavy. Green is for the smell of the atmosphere; the wooden scent, so fresh and clear yet so familiar and old.

Green is for  the windows of the house facing north and south, and how they never seem the catch the full morning light. Green is for the way life doesn’t seem to wear on the farm-- the problems and struggles and worries are left at the edge of the grass, and within the property there’s something timeless and consistent.

Green is for the way things will never change. Green is for the comfortable life they life-- extravagant and rich, sure, but nothing exceptionally  _ risky.  _ Green is beautiful and neither warm nor cold-- it’s not bright but it’s not dull, either.

Green is the way Kravitz’s fingers dig into the dirt in the fields. It’s the way he wipes the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, covered with the remains of weeds. Green is the way his hair is pulled back and his forehead glistens and when he hums to himself, a few words slipping past his lips, the words disperse before his eyes and are forgotten by time.

Green is the smell of rhubarb stalks being ripped from the ground and thrown to the basket at his feet. Green is the way the wicker basket groans, a small and barely audible sound, when he picks it up and moves it a few inches.

When Kravitz looks up from his work and the mud under his fingernails and watches the trees outlining the property sway in the slight breeze, it’s hard for him to understand that people  _ don’t _ understand.

Only one person not only humors him but  _ understands _ .

And he’s green, too.

“How are you holdin’ up?” Kravitz calls from where he’s bent over, detangling a few roots from the earth. It’s an absent-minded question, but he cares about the answer. They’ve only been out there for a few hours, but he doesn’t want to overwork anything.

“Fine,” is the answer that gets quietly called back to him. It’s farther away than Kravitz expected-- he’s working fast today, apparently. “I’m thirsty, though.”

It’s not even an complaint-- it’s an off-handed remark. Complaints are red and Kravitz’s little brother is green.

“I think Momma’s still got that lemonade at the house,” Kravitz finally looks up and his brother is still working diligently, dirt caked on his young face. He’s a good worker, sure, but he’s never been a particularly  _ clean _ worker. “You can run in and get some, if you like.”

“I will. In a lil’ bit.”

Kravitz smiles and turns back to his work because he  _ knows _ where this is going to lead. He knows his brother and he knows that this tone that he’s using means that his brother is  _ thinking _ . Nothing has ever been so amusing to him than the musings of a nine year old child, because the thoughts range from  _ why _ an apple is called an apple to the qualities and complexities of the universe as he understands and knows it.

Maybe Kravitz is a little bit of a hypocrite for saying this, but his brother  _ thinks _ too much sometimes. He loves it, and he loves hearing what he thinks, but for a nine year old? He needs to learn to relax sometimes. Act like a  _ kid _ , because he won’t be a kid forever. (Not to say he won’t have fun as an adult, either. Kravitz will make  _ absolutely sure _ his brother has a fun time as an adult..)

It’s a little backwards that sometimes it’s  _ Kravitz’s _ job to make sure the kid has fun. But he doesn’t mind that much at all.

“Hey, little man,” Kravitz starts and catches his brother’s eyes, and when he sighs Kravitz barks a laugh. “ _ Gods _ you can be so serious sometimes. Brighten up, yeah?”

He abandons his post for the moment and moves to his brother as the latter folds his arms and mumbles, “I’ve got to do  _ stupid _ work an’--”

He’s cut off when Kravitz bends down and grabs a hold of his legs, standing and flipping him upside down and forcing a shrieking laugh from his throat. “ _ Hey!” _

Kravitz laughs as he starts to lightly bounce him. “I’m tryna shake out all that sadness!”

“S- _ Stop _ it! Let me  _ go!” _

“Mmm. I think not!” He turns around and just seeing the smile beneath him, the laughter and the loosely curled fist--

He thinks that’s green, too.

He thinks that when he finally sets his brother down and is immediately kicked in the shin for being a  _ big mean bully _ (which only omits pride, because that’s what Kravitz taught him to do to bullies) by a smiling face-- he thinks that’s green. 

When his brother laughs because Kravitz tugs on his hair playfully as he walks back to his work-- that’s green, too.

Even things he can’t see but he’s  _ sure _ of-- it’s all green, in his mind.

Sometimes, though, his brother is yellow.

Maybe that’s not who his brother is-- maybe that’s just how Kravitz sees him-- but there’s  _ something _ about him that is yellow.

Maybe it’s the future Kravitz sees for him. And how  _ exciting _ that future is. Kravitz is  _ so damn excited _ to see his brother grow up.

His little brother is going to grow up and get married and get the farm-- or maybe even move away from it, maybe even do something unheard of. And Kravitz gets to  _ see _ that. He gets the absolute joy and privilege of watching his brother grow--

All the crushes he’ll get on classmates (he’s already had a few). All the clothes they’re going to have to throw out when he outgrows them. All the times he’ll get moody like a teenager and throw fits like a child. All the times he’ll change his mind and inspire himself and find dreams he never knew he held--

Kravitz gets to see all that.

He’s not sure of his own future. There’s the school down the road that always needs new teachers, and that’s a good backup plan, but he thinks he’d like to do  _ more. _ He’d care for the farm if he  _ had  _ to, sure, but it seemed like too menial of a life for him to lead. He’s gotta do something  _ more _ , that’s all he knows. Something out of the ordinary. Something that’ll leave maybe  _ hundreds _ of people inspired or happy.

He’s got a few ideas other than teaching. Maybe his future will hopefully get people to understand him and see colors--

Or maybe his future entails forgetting about those colors altogether and not even really understanding what he’s saying now.

Kravitz doesn’t know his own future.

But he knows his little brother will be something fantastical. And he knows he’ll be there to watch him and support him through every step.

That, to Kravitz, is exciting.

That, to Kravitz, is yellow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have,,,, ONE MORE CHAPTER.  
>  holy shit.


	28. Epilogue p.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... the last Thawing chapter is finally here.  
> Yikes.  
> I'll make a post on tumblr, in detail, about every little specific thing this fic has done for me, but for now I'll say this-- Thawing has become something of its own story, ever since I wrote chapter 1 and decided it was going to be a oneshot. This story has not been in my hands for 27 chapters, but now it is finally done and I can't say that I could ever be happier with it. Thawing has brought together so many people and it has changed my life for the better-- I've met so many wonderful people, I've formed the most meaningful relationship I've ever had in my life, and I've met people I am not soon to forgot.  
> Thank you all for sticking with me. I love you all so, so very much.

It is a sunny morning quite unlike any other that brings Kravitz to the edge of a marketplace, alone and wearing all black.

They’re mourner’s clothing. Lucretia made them for him, though she didn’t ask why he needed them. He never told her, unprompted, and he was glad she decided to keep quiet. All she needed to know was what type of clothing, how it was patterned, and what color to make it. He gave her what he remembered-- it was more of a suit than anything, but still not quite that. It covered most of the body, up to the neck, and it was made of expensive materials. Ruffles on the collar and the sleeves, and the pants were high waisted. A built-in tail was on the back, and the cloak that covered it all was in a sheer inky colored mesh.  

It is outlandish enough to be considered, in today’s age, either completely odd or avant garde. It’s either a statement or a warning sign.

No one sees it as mourner’s clothing. Not anymore.

Kravitz is not one to care about societal norms, not really, but he feels stupid.

Especially because it’s in the early morning-- there’s only a few people out, milling around and talking in murmurs to not disturb the peace. No one is wearing anything heavier than a tank top, and nearly everyone is wearing sandals.

Kravitz tugs at his sleeves and swallows. He can’t feel the fabric against his skin, but he knows it’s supposed to be at least five pounds heavier than a common shirt.

He can’t help but feel as if his purpose is misguided. Like maybe he’s doing this all wrong, and he’s not honoring the memory correctly-- the worst idea is that someone might ask him what he’s  _ doing _ . He couldn’t answer that question, maybe not ever, and he’s stopped trying.

Mostly it’s because he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

There’s a very real fear in his heart that he’s got the wrong date. That maybe he’s a day or two off, or even a week, or even that he’s  _ months _ off. The fear goes well with the fear that he’s wearing the wrong clothing, which in itself is different from the  _ I look idiotic  _ monologue running in his mind.

And, of course, the fear that he’s at the wrong place.

He’s sure he is. But he doesn’t know where else to  _ go _ .

There are no more relatives-- he’s checked. One night, alone and drinking wine he found in the kitchen cabinet as Taako slept, he slipped into the Astral Plane and tried to look. He found the souls of his parents and saw that they were disconnected to all but one other soul (that he pointedly ignored). It put to rest some distant anxiety he felt and it laid down the distant thought that  _ maybe he’s not alone _ .

It was dumb of him to drink. But since gaining feeling back and since reconnecting with things he’d rather not, he finds himself trying to feel as if he had never died. He would not trade Taako for anything in the world, of course not, but just once he had wanted to drink away some nerves. Just once he wondered if he would still gag at the taste.

Kravitz, however, couldn’t taste the wine. He couldn’t feel the liquid slide down his throat and sit at the bottom of his stomach. His vision didn’t blur and he kept his footing just fine when he strode through the portal to the Astral Plane.

He didn’t explain the empty wine bottle in the trash can to Taako the next morning. Taako didn’t ask.

Instead he bought a new bottle, the same brand, on the way home from work that day. He felt stupid doing it.

He feels stupid now.

Stupid, wrong, and alone.

For that is his biggest fear-- that he is alone.

No one except him knows the meaning behind the clothing (which Lucretia did a wonderful job on, but is not and will never be 100%  _ accurate _ ) he wears. No one except him knows  _ why _ he’s wearing it-- not the strangers wandering around the marketplace, not Lucretia, and not even Taako.

Someone bumps into him-- someone on their way into the marketplace, someone who didn’t see him in the shadows-- and instinctively he mutters, “ _ Reu prittu _ .”

No one will ever understand what he has said.

For  _ his language _ , much like himself and everything about him, is dead.

Or… or it was dead. Maybe it still is, but he remembers it, at least. But does that mean anything?

Kravitz moves into the marketplace and out of the shadow. Does  _ anything _ he’s doing mean  _ anything? _

Likely not, but he has to try.

The first and only person he talks to-- a lonely vendor, nearly dozing at his stand-- doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He looks Kravitz up and down with puzzled eyes and answers even more hesitantly. Kravitz feels the heat on his face from the sun as the man tells him that there was something like what he was looking for around there-- it was destroyed hundreds of years ago, from what he knows, but it  _ existed. _

Some miles off to the west, he says. Why do you want to know? 

Kravitz doesn’t even have a plausible  _ fake _ answer.

Perhaps he’s giving in too early, but he thanks the man for his time, moves away from the marketplace and into a back-alley, and opens a rift.

It’s humiliation as much as it is self-doubt. Speaking in a foreign, dead language and wearing garments that were so outdated that no one had ever  _ heard _ of them-- what does he think he’s going to accomplish? With no help from anyone, to boot-- though, of course, that’s not particularly his fault.

Who was going to help him? There’s no family left alive. No one remembers the name. The grave is likely destroyed.

Kravitz appears in the kitchen to his house and is absent to the music in the air and the smell of freshly baked goods. It’s noon when he returns, though he’d only been at the marketplace for all of ten minutes, and somehow he doesn’t care that Taako’s home. Somehow he doesn’t care that Taako didn’t see him leave wearing these clothes, or that Taako would ask what the  _ hell _ he’s wearing and why.

He’s going to answer him; he’s not going to give him the same awkward silence he gave to the vendor. But the answer will be as good as-- it will be that it was for a dumb reason and it resulted in  _ nothing _ and he’d rather just drop it.

He’ll do something later, he tells himself, unclasping the heavy cloak from his back and folding it in his arms. Something in private. In his normal clothes, in his own bedroom, in his own house, when his husband is likely sleeping. 

The thought makes him pause, the cloak folded and held lightly. 

It’s a sweet gesture, what he’s doing. If only it didn’t make him feel so  _ alone _ .

Because he’s not alone, not by a mile. He can hear Taako in the other room, most likely cleaning. Barry and Lup were over for dinner last night. Lucretia  _ sewed him an outfit _ . Magnus called him just a few days ago to talk about Johann the dog. Angus had his own room in their house.

He feels love in his heart, and this new loneliness is almost  _ threatening _ . It scares him. 

Kravitz hasn’t forgotten about this new family he has, and he won’t make the mistakes that he’s made the first time around.

He’s appreciative, he tells himself. He always will be.

Even so, he tries to slink away to the bedroom to change without Taako noticing.

But of course Taako notices. He’s got a way of seeing things both of them don’t want him to see-- and he’s got a way of  _ ignoring _ those things. However, one look at Taako’s shocked face, wide eyes raking over Kravitz’s ensemble and a hand slowly coming to hide a smile, and Kravitz knows that this won’t be dropped.

“ _ Well _ ,” is all that Taako says, muffled laughter hiding in his hand. Kravitz can see the smile in his eyes.

Taako’s wearing a light pink sweater and polka-dot pajama shorts.

Kravitz doesn’t know how to respond and when he opens his mouth he finds that he  _ can’t _ . He can’t say a single thing without breaking. There’s a hole in his chest and he can feel the phantom pains of a heart aching and bruising.

“What’s with the, uh…” Taako removes his hand and gestures up and down Kravitz, devilish smile in full view. “You, uh, givin’ the Phantom of the Opera a run for its money?”

It seems so futile, in that moment. Giving any answer is useless, so why should he bother?

“Something like that,” it’s all that he can say.

Looking at Taako’s face pause, looking at his smile hesitate as his eyes suddenly grow a bit more searching, a bit more calculated-- Kravitz isn’t sure what he wants to happen, in that moment. He’s not sure if he’s so horribly in love with Taako for noticing or if he wants nothing more than for Taako to  _ leave _ . He’s not sure if he wants to fold into Taako, to carry him to the bedroom with no explanation and  _ sleep _ for twelve years, or if he wants to be as utterly and completely quiet and alone as he feels.

Nausea rises in his stomach. His head hurts. He feels tired--

Above it all, he feels old.

He feels like a machine run its course. An old model, that only a few vintage collectors even wanted to  _ try _ running. No one wants to use this machine-- they want to see the sounds that it makes when it turns on, the ancient and vintage look of it appealing to them highly. They don’t want to  _ fix _ it-- they want to stare at it, to fit it into a modern era and label it as a new  _ aesthetic  _ piece.

What he’s doing is sad to him. He’s not keeping his culture alive and reviving it, not really. He’s one man playing dress up for the death of someone that no one remembers, of someone that no longer has a grave, and whispering to himself a few rusted words of a long lost language.

Kravitz is pretending-- all of it is pretend. He’s even pretending he has the right date.

“Krav? Somethin’ up?” 

He looks up, not sure when his eyes wandered to the cloak again, and meets a concerned gaze. Taako’s brows are knit together and he’s taken a step forward.  _ He cares so much. _ “You’ve got that  _ look _ .”

Despite himself, Kravitz smiles. It’s a tired, sad smile. “I don’t have a  _ look _ .”

Taako snorts, but he doesn’t look any more relieved. “Oh, for  _ sure _ you do. It’s that far-away,  _ I’m thinking about things _ look.”

“Doesn’t everyone think about things?”

“I prefer not to, actually,” Taako smiles, then takes another step forward. “C’mon, babe. Spit it out. You don’t get to get all gussied in a goth clown suit and  _ not _ explain yourself.”

_ He doesn’t mean it, _ Kravitz thinks to himself.  _ He doesn’t know. _

But he still picks at the sleeves of his shirt for a while before answering.

“It’s… Lucretia made it,” he says, and he  _ knows _ it’s not helpful. 

But how honest does he want to be, anyway?

(Why does he feel so lonely but still refuse to  _ tell _ anyone?)

Taako stares at him pensively for a little bit. Kravitz almost opens his mouth and shoots back at him  _ see, now, you’ve got a look _ . It’s not a look that Taako gets often, not publically, but Kravitz has seen it before. Mostly when Angus says something without meaning to about his grandparents or his previously questionable home life.

“Where were you?” Taako asks quietly.

_ Bartender, get me a Scotch. It’s gonna be a long night. _

“Nowhere,” Kravitz replies, moving past Taako and heading into their bedroom. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do when he gets in there-- likely change out of these… these  _ hideous _ clothes first. He even knows it’s useless to try to deter Taako now, as well. 

“Don’t be stubborn,” Taako is following him. Of course he is.

“I learn from the best.”

“ _ Kravitz.” _

He’s been thinking about this day for the past week. Mainly because it was the worst day of his life, and for centuries he had gone on pretending as if it hadn’t existed. He thought that if he ignored it then the emotions and bad omens behind it would disappear-- and somehow they  _ had _ .

But this year, Kravitz faced the uncomfortableness. He faced the dread and anxiety that pooled in his veins like blood. He dug up memories that he had buried farther than his person-- he had tried to remember all that he could and reopen all of those scars and pick at all of those scabs.

It was because he had thought he was doing the right thing,  _ finally. _

Kravitz should have let the past die.

“I was trying to find a grave,” he tells Taako, short and without stopping his path. He hears Taako stop behind him and he doesn’t pay attention. He  _ can’t. _ He  _ can’t _ turn around and see Taako’s face. “And I thought-- the-- the cemetery no longer there. It was destroyed years ago.  _ That’s _ what I was doing.”

_ Now drop it. _

_ Or… or prod. Press and prod until I break. _

“Whose grave?”

“Does it matter?” 

He starts to unbutton his shirt, still not looking up at Taako. Anger, he claims, is what makes his fingers shake. In reality it’s fear. Panic. Depression. Anything but anger.

“ _ Obviously _ .” Taako moves out of the corner of his vision to sit on the edge of their bed, not saying a word about how Kravitz throws the cloak absently on the ground and it comes out of its folds. “Krav, what’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, sure, but you’re  _ obviously  _ lying,” Taako leans back on the bed, watching him with interest and thinly concealed concern. “You get all stubborn when you’re… I don’t know. Stressed or tired or annoyed.”

“I  _ don’t _ ,” he says, and it’s the first time he thinks he sounds like a stubborn child.

Taako laughs. “Okay, sure. But I’m here all day, and I don’t think we’re leaving this room until you tell me what’s up.”

“There’s nothing  _ up _ ,” Kravitz snaps and his hands stop moving. 

Taako glances down and Kravitz follows his gaze.

He’s only managed to undo one button.

For some reason, seeing this feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. He keeps his eyes on that one button, so carefully sewn on, and slowly sinks onto the mattress beside Taako. 

It’s all so  _ useless _ . Every bit of it.

He feels young, and reckless, and dumb, and immature, and twenty-one years old when he drops his hands from his shirt and says, “Today’s the day my brother died.”

Taako isn’t saying a word.

Kravitz doesn’t stop staring at the one undone button.

“And-- and I tried to find his grave. It’s gone by now, and I knew this. It was stupid of me to look.”

He doesn’t explain why it’s only  _ this year _ that he’s tried to honor his brother’s death. He doesn’t explain that it’s a large event, in his culture-- everyone gathers around a shrine, every year, on the day of that person’s death, and they pay respects. He doesn’t explain that he hasn’t  _ ever _ done that for his brother.

He doesn’t explain that he thinks no one has ever done that for  _ him, _ either.

Kravitz doesn’t think he could ever explain all this anyway.

“This-- this  _ stupid _ thing,” he continues, gesturing at his outfit, “is a mourner’s outfit. There’s different styles for femininity and masculinity-- this one is somewhere in the middle-- and… and they-- it’s not really fashionable. It was never meant to be.”

There’s silence for a while, and Kravitz wonders if he could count the individual threads on the button and around it. There’s got to be tens of hundreds of them. 

He doesn’t think about Taako staring at him, again, with that  _ look _ .

He expects Taako to ask questions-- he doesn’t bring up his brother a lot, if at all, for so many reasons. And Taako-- Kravitz doesn’t think they’ve  _ ever _ discussed that his culture is so  _ vastly  _ different than what’s around today. He’s gotten so used to the world as it is, so used to slipping between eras and fads, that it’s never been a discussion.

He remembers the early days of talking with the Queen and being under her serve-- he had once tried to set up an altar for her. Just a small thing-- a pot of flowers and some gemstones and herbs. It was destroyed a few days later, when contractors decided to build a house on that plot of land and simply discarded the whole thing. The Queen never mentioned it. She never  _ cared  _ about it.

The idea of setting roots somewhere, of having  _ permanence  _ in  _ anything _ , is completely a waste of time. 

It’s a concept Kravitz has had to change a little, recently, with his growing humanity.

“Y’know,” Taako says, quietly, “for what it’s worth, I-- uh-- I’m sorry I. Y’know. Called your outfit a clown suit. It really doesn’t look that bad.”

It’s just a confusing enough thing to say that Kravitz smiles and spares a glance at him. “It’s fine,” he says, after a pause. “It does look stupid.”

“Nah,” Taako straightens a bit more, reaching out and grabbing a hold of the fabric to rub it between his fingers. “I just said that ‘cause it’s really… dark, out of context. I’ve seen worse.” He pauses then, before asking, “Were these things, er,  _ always _ in black?”

“Well… I suppose. Though there would be different colored accents to symbolize different relationships.”

“So what would you wear?”

Whatever cadence that Taako was trying to establish left when Kravitz realizes, “I… don’t know. This-- I’ve never…”

“That’s fine,” Taako quickly says, standing from the bed and moving to his vanity mirror. Kravitz watches him, and he’s not  _ that _ naive to not see what he’s trying to do-- it’s just the pit in his stomach, the pain that stops in his chest for a moment, that fills him with disbelief. “Blue would match your eyes, I think.”

“Blue was for friends or acquaintances,” Kravitz finds himself saying. 

“Oh. Good. So… green, maybe?”

“Green works, I guess.”

Taako busies himself at his vanity mirror for a little while, opening drawers and fussing with things. It’s not ten seconds passed that he turns around, and when he does there are two things that are different than before. 

In one hand he holds out a green carnation-- something small and delicate. It’s a glass rose, upon further inspection, and the petals are so finely crafted they look like paper.

And completing Taako’s already mismatched ensemble is a yellow carnation, similar to the one he holds out for Kravitz, pinned onto his pink sweater.

“It’s better than nothing,” Taako shrugs nonchalantly. He steps forward before Kravitz can take the carnation and presses himself close, close enough that Kravitz can almost smell his perfume. He starts to hook the carnation in his breast pocket, tongue stuck between his teeth in concentration. 

Kravitz watches him, all of his thoughts on hold. 

Taako eventually leans back, still close to him, and pats the carnation now attached to his suit with pride.“What else is there, then?” He asks, hands on his hips. “Is there something else that you don’t have?”

In the way of an answer, Kravitz’s hands come up and he cups the side of Taako’s face, bringing him down to kiss him.

Taako’s surprised, just for a moment, before he leans in further. It’s nothing rushed-- it’s sweet and calm and with it Taako can guess at just  _ how much _ Kravitz loves him.

Kravitz tells him once they pull apart-- that he loves him, that is. And Taako believes him completely. 

“I love you, too,” Taako says, quietly, staring into those old and wise eyes that he adores. “How can I help?”

They spend the day, up until the afternoon, immersed in the world of the dead.

Taako doesn’t ask questions as they make arrangements in the house, but he doesn’t have to. 

Kravitz tells someone, for the first time since he had died, about how the world had been around him. 

He’s told Taako that he was slightly more  _ rowdy _ and  _ promiscuous _ when he was younger and alive. Taako knows that he was into swing dance, and that he respected his mother greatly-- he was polite, he was brash, he was clever and quick-witted and respectfully flirted with  _ everyone _ on the dance floor of a wooden bar every night. Taako knows that he was born on a farm and lived there his whole life but was raised a city boy.

Taako even knows about his brother, to an extent.

But his  _ culture _ was something that was as old as it was new.

Like with nearly every topic he was passionate about, once Kravitz got talking it was hard for him to stop.

He realizes, in the midst of telling Taako, that he  _ misses _ how some things were. It’s better and more liberal in this modern day as a whole, but some things were completely harmless and  _ still _ got snuffed out like a wildfire. He tells Taako about how the herb thyme was considered to be something cleaning and akin to sage as Taako waves burning thyme around the bedroom-- he tells him this as he remembers that shoes were  _ always _ taken off at the back door, but never the front. He remembers the flowers that would hang upside down at the beginning of every doorway-- every flower meant something different, to signify what the room was used for-- as Taako helps him dust off the altar area with a dirty rag.

He misses the greetings that they had--  _ Muiic freuick _ , they’d say in the old language, and the men would kiss and the women would hug. He misses the fabric of the clothing they’d wear on nights out. He misses the neighbors they had, and how they were closer to family than anything.

It’s not a sad sort of longing; it’s really not even a longing at all. It’s a fond remembrance that carries his soul. It’s a feeling that doesn’t leave him as Taako laughs at his tradition of only being allowed to have ham on the third saturday of every month.

“I don’t want to be rude, it’s just-- that’s  _ really _ specific,” Taako says amidst his laughter. 

“It’s how things were,” Kravitz replies with a smile and a good-natured shrug.

It’s hard for him to realize that those things were so long ago. It’s even more odd to think that  _ he _ used to perform these rituals and say these everyday things and not even think about it. He would never  _ dream _ of letting strangers kiss him on the cheek as a greeting  _ now _ , but back then that was  _ what they did _ . 

That was how things were.

If it wasn’t how Kravitz was raised, if it wasn’t such a precious and unstable and dusty old thing, he’d find the traditions ridiculous, too.

But it’s when Taako puts the finishing touches on the altar-- after spending all morning with him talking about these forgotten things while doing odd and specific things that had virtually no meaning anymore-- does Kravitz remember why he shouldn’t laugh at these things.

The memories of these rituals and customs are all he has left.

Those memories and, now, what sits before him.

It’s in a little corner of their bedroom that they built the altar. To anyone else, Kravitz suspects it doesn’t even really look like an altar. It doesn't have candles around a picture of the deceased-- that's the most common form of altar that Kravitz has seen around, and even if it wasn't part of his culture he couldn't do it anyway. He doesn't have a picture and can't draw people too well.

Instead, this altar is something more akin to a modern mess.

They made it on their nightstand, which is a tad small but worked the best. A cloth is draped over as the base; it's a kitchen towel, really, patterned with grapes and wine glasses and stained in some places. Atop of this is a piece of decorative lace from a coaster. 

Littered on the lace are various things that seem to have no pattern. However, Kravitz has their uses memorized by heart. 

A knife-- one of his, patterned dark and with the aesthetic of the Raven Queen-- is the centerpiece. It's said to help the dead cut ties from the mortal world so they may pass easier.

Something meaningful from everyone who built the altar; to show that whoever built it put in their genuine love and energy. Taako glanced at Kravitz from the side of his eye when he saw him place a wooden chip from the cracked umbrastaff  next to the knife for Taako, but he didn’t say anything if he thought it too personal. Kravitz, in his mind, reasoned that while that  _ was _ personal to Taako-- well, they were building an altar for  _ his dead brother _ , and if Taako wanted to stop him he would. Things evened out.

For himself, Kravitz placed next to the wood something that he had all but forgotten about but kept with him for centuries-- a small, handmade charm in the shape of a star. The gold of it had dimmed, and he had lost the bracelet part of it ages ago, but still he had kept it on him wherever he could. For a while he wore it on his own wrist-- then it was worn as an earring, then casted into a ring-- but over the past hundred years it resided in his hair, braided in to a small lock.

If Taako had ever found this charm before, he said nothing. Most likely he thought it was just a decoration; meaningless save for an accent to an outfit.

Kravitz unfolds it from his hair quietly as Taako puts the finishing touches on the altar. He doesn’t think about the last time he touched the charm. Some things he can’t unpack, not today, not soon.

Still, as he places the charm on the altar beside the knife, he thinks about the infirmary-given bracelet wrapped around a tiny wrist. He thinks about the wet hair and the closed eyes and the senseless squirming body, barely a few hours old.

He stares at it, sitting there on the table, older than anything he can think of. 

He wonders at how something so small can survive for so long.

Kravitz sits on the edge of the bed as Taako takes a few steps back to survey it. He’d placed flowers on the altar-- daisies, which had been symbolic of death at the time-- and he’d placed other decorations-- gemstones that clashed colors and a few magically-conjured balls of light. It’s surreal to Kravitz to see this, and he doesn’t try to keep himself from floating from his body, watching the room with nothing and everything in his heart all at once.

Loneliness. Love. Sorrow. Longing.

Everything confuses him, but mostly longing. 

He loves Taako, that’s a given fact. He loves his life, whatever it happened to be. He loves his family--  _ this _ family, Lup and Barry and Magnus and even Merle and Davenport and Lucretia-- he loves them all so much. 

He’s thankful for every new day. Every time he wakes up and can smell the clear air and feel Taako beside him and hear the sounds of the night or the morning-- this means  _ everything _ to him. Every day he is amazed that someone living on borrowed time, on technicalities and rules of a  _ Goddess _ , can experience and appreciate such beauty of the world. Every day he falls a little bit more in love with feeling and living and  _ existing _ , and sometimes he wonders where this beauty was during his last days alive.

Some days he chides himself, wondering how he could have chosen to never feel this again; this pure, unfiltered love.

But still he feels longing.

For Kravitz would give  _ anything _ to remember his little brother’s name.

“Is this it?” Taako asks quietly, and Kravitz just nods. 

Neither of them are particularly good at words, so Taako simply sits beside him on the bed, not moving as Kravitz leans on his shoulder. Looking at the altar-- it’s almost like he can remember. It’s almost like he didn’t exist eons ago-- like just last year his brother died, and now, a reasonable amount of time later, Kravitz is giving tribute to him. 

For a while he’s seen his brother as… as some sort of  _ concept. _ Something abstract, something that had no shape or direct value. His brother was the  _ catalyst.  _ Thinking this made things easier.

That is how Kravitz chose to see him, either way. As the catalyst to everything. To his death, to his rebirth, to his life. But looking at the altar his little brother has become, once again, a  _ thing.  _ A person. A little boy, a  _ brother _ , gone long before his time.

Kravitz has wrestled with the question of being  _ correct _ for a while now.

Was he right to die? 

He’s had different answers for the longest time. Different answers that made him nauseous to think, different answers that crawled under his skin for weeks, different answers that made him just a bit more at ease. When he dances with Taako in the kitchen, twirling him to some old tune-- when he adorns black clothes that are old and stylistically forgotten-- when he watches Taako grieve all that both of them have lost.

For the first time, looking at this altar, he has no answer. There’s a hole in his chest that  _ aches _ so painfully, and he almost thinks  _ that’s _ the answer. He’s found it easy to mistake pain for a direction.

Today he looks at this pain and recognizes it for what it is and lets it be.

He does not justify it, he does not excuse it, he does not bury it.

He leans his head on Taako’s shoulder and he looks at the altar and has no question and, therefore, no answer. 

He has a thought that he holds to be true:

Things are, and will continue to be, okay.


End file.
